Once upon a time, there was a girl who liked to write but her writing was all stop start like a bus trip that keeps stopping to pick up and drop off passengers . It was a friggen pain in the bum. Every time she thought she was a writer, she'd stop writing and then she'd think that she was a stay at home mum (nothing wrong with that, unless of course, you think you're a writer). She kept getting stories accepted on spec which in editor speak is like "Maybe?". But instead of writing the stories, she'd just pitch more stories and get them accepted, until she had a whole lot of stories and one teeny bottle neck to squish them through.
But then she got the mother of all excuses - she had a long run planned. And she decided that instead of confronting her procrastination demons she would blame her non-writingness (she made up that word), on this excuse. She was training (blahs blah), she was nervous (more blahs), she was tired...she was flat...she was NOT WRITING.
Instead of spending her hours productively writing, she'd sit at the computer reading trashy British newspapers about celebs she'd never heard about nor cared for, and then she'd feel stink about herself. And you can't possibly write when you feel stink about yourself. Relieved, she'd find another excuse.
Until the day came, when she remembered that she actually loved to write, and that she loved the feeling of writing good stuff. And that if she didn't get going, then everything would freeze up even more than it was already.
And like the sun popping out from behind a cloud, she realised that to start writing again, she actually just had to start writing.
And so she did......
And she and her computer lived happily ever after. The End.
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