Pulling teeth or how I am the world’s worst procrastinator

It’s the middle of August. It’s hot. It’s as smokey as a Willy Nelson concert, due to the massive forest fires circling my little burg. I don’t want to do anything other than take cold showers and watch Supernatural (and workout, obviously, because lifting is my life).

I also have a deadline in 16 FREAKING DAYS and I scrapped half the new book to go in a different direction. This means that I have a minimum of 20,000 words to get done before I can submit this thing to my editor. I’m stressed.

Yet, still, I can’t figure out this annoying plot point and now that I’m frustrated and stressed about time, I just do what I always do: waste more time and stress myself out more.

I read depressed news stories and feel shitty about the state of the world. I watch endless lifting technique videos on YouTube. I go to Tumblr. I go to Twitter. I go back to my word document and write two sentences and then I start the cycle over. Lather, rinse, repeat.

This week I’m setting myself a goal of 10,000 words. I’m a slow writer, so that’s pretty lofty. That comes out to…1,429 words/day. Got to make it happened.

Sam, Dean, I love you. And it’s not you, it’s me. I need some space. I need to see other people. We’re on a break.