Author Donna Andrews is on deadline and procrastinating.
I'm only one day behind where I want to be on the book. I'm
chugging along, slowly but steadily. But my writing avoidance
behaviors are in full bloom.
One of the most common writing
avoidance behaviors is nesting. Cleaning, organizing, and tidying.
It's not just me; a year or so ago, a writer friend reported a
bafflingly sudden and uncharacteristic urge to clean her desk. . . her
office . . . perhaps her whole house. Several of us asked if,
perchance, she was on deadline. Of course she was. You may tell
yourself that you can write better in a tidy office; you may claim that
you're thinking about your book while dusting, mopping, scrubbing, and
sorting; you may even be telling the truth. But never try to fool
yourself that these sudden domestic urges aren't writing avoidance.
I know exactly how she feels. Last night I "cleaned up" my iTunes library and playlists and when I looked up again, three hours had passed. I've also been obsessive about trimming our trees. I think it's because I'm nervous about actually starting to write the "standalone" book that I've been noodling with in my mind for months…
I'd start to write it at this very moment but I have to Twitter somebody, make some more connections on LinkedIn, and clean out my office closet first…
You should see my food pantry. I even pulled out all the shelves and scrubbed them down while finishing my most recent book. I stopped short of alphabetizing cans, but considered it.
I saw on twitter that you’re also reading Psych. Shouldn’t you be writing your novel? I’m sure it’ll be great. 🙂
PSYCH is my best friend Bill’s first book. I couldn’t wait to read the galley. And I was rewarded for my eagerness — the book is absolutely hilarious. I’ll talk more about it in late December, when it’s published.
Lee
Fear is my motivator. Just when I was getting good at procrastinating, sometimes even starting in the afternoon instead of dawn, the market crashed and my retirement funds have been whittled to half. I’m back to where I was as a young writer, glued to the keyboard, with my eye on the checking account.