It's November and there are a lot of writers out there trying to write the great american novel in 30 days. I'm hiding. Trying my hardest not to write.
Now I'm not doing it conciously. I'm sneakier than that. Like right now. I told myself I was going to write a scene in Paris or Bust. Just one scene, nothing earth shattering like an entire novel. But what am I doing? Updating this blog instead. This weekend was suppose to me my big push to get the other three chapters done before my friday meeting with my writer muse. (She's a real person, really)
So I'm going to cut this a little short and see if I can get started. Just a paragraph. Maybe only a sentence but something that moves the storyline down the road just a little. And then I have two new assignments. One story that I really have to finish. And three chapters due by Friday. Do I know how to procrastinate or not?
Later.
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