Writer: Heal Thyself

It has struck down thousands of people across the globe.  It doesn’t discriminate against age, race, religion or gender and it can strike without warning.  Cures exist but something different is required for each victim it attacks making it impossible to issue an across-the-board antidote.

On any typical day, your average person will be going about their business when all of a sudden they are overcome by this fearsome affliction.  Some episodes last for as briefly as a few minutes but the more serious occurrences can last for weeks, months and some cases have lasted years.  

The medical profession prefer to ignore the problem rather than classifying it so sufferers are forced to struggle on their own or secretly sign up to clandestine support groups where they speak in hushed tones of the symptoms of their condition.

It is a hideous malady that steals precious time from otherwise healthy, functioning people. 

Hello, my name is Elissa and I have scribus procrastinus.

There.  I said it.  I thought I would feel better, but I still feel guilty.  And slightly silly.  But it’s true.  I’ve been avoiding the WIP since last week.  I have come up with some especially clever excuses, like:

·         I’m allowing my story to brew in my mind (like fine coffee) before I write it down;

·         I’m working through the plot points (would fly better if I didn’t already know what they were);

·         My story is like a good wine and needs time to breath (even I had a hard time swallowing that one!);

·         I need to work out useless pieces of backstory that no one else will ever read and that have no bearing on the story (like the heroine’s mother’s maiden name etc);

·         Other people’s blogs will disappear if I don’t read them every day…….and comment…..and read everyone else’s comments;

But the real truth is that I’m plagued with doubt.  Which is pure lunacy because it’s not as if as I type my words are being shown on some huge screen in Times Square New York, available for instant disparaging.  Maybe if they were, I would be inspired to write better.  No, I’m just having an attack of the blues and it’s filtering through to my writing.

So here’s the plan.  I’m going to give myself enough time to clean my house (which I’ve been avoiding like the plague while I’ve been focused on the WIP and the result is, ironically, now the house is so disgusting it will probably give me the plague) and I will do a bit of mental cleaning while I’m at it.  All you actor types out there will be familiar with my Stanislavsky approach.

And then it will be business as usual.  Without the need for an intervention or a support group!