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I feel your pain, Calvin. I, too, suck with the whole “write 2000 words every day” creedo. The lure of the Internetz (those damned LOL catz!) and the siren call of nature (my garden won’t grow without me!) and the day-to-day existence of trying to keep up with life are just excuses, I know.<\/strong><\/p>\n I should just do it. Just sit down, like anyone else with a real day job, and do it. <\/strong><\/p>\n But I don’t. Instead, I procrastinate. I weed and water, I take the dog for a long walk, I play Monopoly with the littles, I hunt the cupboards for any signs of chocolate, I read one of the many ebooks piling up on my digital TBR list…until either a) inspiration strikes or b) the deadline looms too large for me to possibly bear any longer. <\/strong><\/p>\n I’ve always been, as Julia Roberts once said in Pretty Woman<\/em>, a “fly by the seat of my pants kind of gal.” I’m not a planner. I hardly ever outline unless I absolutely have to. I like the spontaneity of not knowing where it’s all going, the possibilities of where things might end up. Which is strange, because in my real life, I’m an organizer. I make lists. I have routines. But writing? That’s a whole other animal. But the truth is, I work best under pressure. I would have made a great bomb diffuser. I need a timer, a countdown, the pressure – oh my god, is it the red wire or the blue? Something happens to me during those moments, a sort of calm in the midst of a storm. I know what needs to be done and I know I can do it. I can<\/em> write on those days when I don’t have a deadline timer ticking down… but it’s nowhere near as good. Writing under deadline is like having sex in the coat room or a public bathroom – it might not be very comfortable, but it’s hot, fun and exciting as hell. <\/strong><\/p>\n Of course I’m sure there’s something to be said for arranging for babysitters, reserving a room, ordering wine, spreading rose petals on the bed and spending hours making love, too. <\/strong><\/p>\n But somehow, I still find myself with my legs spread in the coat room, whispering, “Hurry! Hurry!” and enjoying the hell out of myself as the clock ticks down…
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Selena Kitt<\/strong><\/p>\n