So the screenplay’s done. I sent it into the writing contest. “What writing contest?” you ask. Check out TVwriter.com on my links page. Anyway, so it’s sent in and out of my hair. Now I need to return to book 4. I procrastinated on this book earlier. First I blamed it on the winter that wouldn’t die (last snow fall on May 11th). Then I blamed it on getting the screen play done by June because I payed the entry fee for the contest way back in March, and I didn’t want to waste the entry fee.

So, no more excuses, right? Except that spring is here, it’s the height of planting season, it’s warm and sunny and green outside. Things are blooming. So what do I do instead of write? I wander. I slowly walk through my garden, slightly stooped. I methodically let my gaze drift over every plant, through the beds and back again. “Ooh, this plant is budding out. I need to weed this part of the bed. Oh, I need to move that. What’s eating this plant?”

My plant vulturing this year has earned me many new green children. They are spread all around the house and the garage. My perennial bed is expanding like a brown dirt glacier, taking over the unused back lawn, spade load by spade load. That’s awesome, but I need to write.

It’s mid June. Last year, book 3 was done at the end of May. It takes time for the editors to go through the book. It takes time for me to rewrite based on the edits. It takes time to publish the ebook. It takes time to format the hard copy. It takes time to create the hard cover. (“Time Time Time to see what’s become of me…”)

But spring is so short, especially this year. Summer will come hot and humid with deer flies and mosquitoes everywhere. Heatwaves will rotate between thunderstorms with a few tornado scares sprinkled in to keep everyone on their toes. Don’t I get to enjoy this fleeting moment of fairly consistent niceness?

Today I finally did both. I moved wet, heavy leaves. I planted annuals and moved perennials. After I  took a wheelbarrow of sod clumps to the dumpster, my back said I was done. So I wandered, looked around, and said, “I need a notebook.”

The pile of leaves had been taking up a nice spot under the oak tree. I pulled up a chair and picked up Book 4 where I had abandoned my heroine months earlier. I stopped between scenes and wondered to myself when my blasted irises were finally going to open with a bloom instead of teasing me with their tight buds. Then I wrote some more. I got a good few pages out of the deal. I just need to keep it up. I need to continue, whether inside or out, keyboard or notebook.

Shit’s gotta get done. “When’s the next book coming?” deserves a proper answer.

One Response to “Procrastination or Contemplation?”