Tag Archives: procrastination

Pretty Pictures and Procrastination

Done some blogskeeping today, bit of new formatting and new photos all round.  The amazing aerial shot in my header of Sinjari, our Saker Falcon at work, stooping to the lure was taken by Caitlin Tarvet, a very talented volunteer!  I just Picmonkied around with it a bit.  And my long-suffering husband took the one in my bio of myself and Gos the Gos.  Hurray for these fabulous photographers – without which, nothing I do would ever be documented, and that would just be sad!

In other news, I am SO VERY behind NaNoWriMo! But  I don’t particularly mind.  So long as I continue to write, even if a bit sporadically, that’s all I’m wanting out of it this year, as I’ve been too busy with work and life to devote the time needed to complete a 50k novel in a month.  Even though I’ve completed it before, and when working a proper full-time 9-5 job, I find that my energy levels just aren’t up to it now.

When I was working an office job I was sitting all day, and could come home and still have energy to pursue other things, and in fact I did a good amount of my daily writing at work anyways, during quiet moments or at lunch.  But now, after my days walking circuits of the park, lifting heavy things, swinging lures, talking with the public, weilding a machete to chop up rabbits, and generally running about from just after dawn until well past sunset this time of year, well I just don’t have much energy left.

However, I’m trying to enthuse myself so that it doesn’t require a massive outpouring of energy to do a bit of writing after work.   I remember times, and projects, where the writing seemed effortless.  Not so, just now.  It’s been slow, clumsy, and it shows in the writing.  Which does nothing to improve my enthusiasm to write more, and instead I end up spending an hour this morning tinkering around to make my new blog header.

A worthy pursuit, surely?

No.  Procrastination.

So I just need to knuckle down and write, really.  Which means I have to stop blogging about how little writing I’m doing, and actually go write instead!  And on that note, that’s exactly what I’ll do.

An Ode to Angry Birds

Once again I bring to you a frivolous Ode:

An Ode to Angry Birds

O Angry Birds,
Why are you so?
It was those damned
Porcine foe.

They stole your eggs
And now must pay
In explodey, crunchy
Smashy ways.

O Angry Birds,
Where shall we go?
To defeat those damned
Porcine foe?

In space, in Rio,
In the Wild West,
Anywhere we find those
Porky pests.

O Angry Birds,
Why is it so much fun?
When I told myself
Work should be done?

It’s the height of
Procrastination
To smash and crash
And dream of bacon.

An Ode to an Ode

Some of you may know that sometimes I write Odes to Inanimate Objects. Today, I’m writing an Ode… to an Ode:

An Ode to an Ode

An Ode to an Ode;
A jest to a jest.
Hiding behind word-play
To escape seriousness.

Writing novels is tricky
But Odes are just fun,
So I’d rather write Odes than the
Bazillionth novel I’ve begun.

How can you blame me?
Odes are short and witty.
Novels are long and hard,
Writing them is rarely pretty.

So here I am, writing this
Instead of what I should be.
Hoping that at the end
I’ll at least feel happy

That I’ve written something
At all, instead of watch tv,
Or drink beer in the afternoon
Which is tempting me.

I’ll probably still do these things,
But at least I can say,
To myself if no one else: Hey,
I’ve written a freaking Ode today.

Writer’s Blah

I wouldn’t exactly call what I’m going through right now “writer’s block”, it’s more like “writer’s blah”.  Usually when I get this my reaction is to want to wipe the slate clean by starting a new project.  And this is why I have three rough drafts and no shiny, completed novels.

Blah.

What happens is that I decide, with all the best intentions and positive outlook, to start working on one of those drafts again.  Lately it’s been Cobault, which is the most put-together of the drafts despite being in the midst of massive rewriting.  I open the document, skim through to where I left off and back track a chapter or two.  By reading what came before, editing as I go, I generally get into it easier.  However, lately I have been reading what came before and thinking to myself:

“SHITE.”

It’s shite.  I’m shite, this is shite, he’s shite and she’s shite.  I start to mentally plan just how much re-rewriting I have to do, overload my mental circuitry and minimize the screen in panic.  As a result, I’ve stalled.  Ever since finishing The Long Road Home, which I was at first really pleased with during the process but then afterwards I realised, no, that’s shite as well.

This needs to stop happening if I’m to get anywhere.  I just need to relax, stop judging myself and just let the words flow, shite or no shite.  But they’re just not flowing, stifled by my cries of “Shite, shite, shitey-shite!!” that would make my husband concerned for my sanity if indeed these shouts were vocalised.  I’m telling myself that I need to just Do It Or Else, but the Or Else part fails to be truly threatening because I know I’m bluffing.  Or Else what, mind?  You’ll make me mindlessly surf the internet and scour Failblog for three hours?  That’s just what we do already, you lazy, unemployed lump of grey matter!

This is also why I’ve been so dedicated to updating this blog, as a sort of penance for not really writing properly.  As if to be presenting these posts like offerings at the altar of my counter-productivity, hoping to satiate the little demons in my head who prod me with vicious little guilt-sticks.

BLAH.

I’m hoping that I’ll get more productive now that I’m going to be volunteering two days a week with holy-crap-amazing birds of prey at Raptor World, part of the Cupar Deer Centre.  I always find that the less I do the less I want to do, so let’s see if I can swing that cycle of nonsense the other way ’round.  Today I’m off to go buy some waterproof trousers, as I’ll no doubt be scraping raptor poo off of various surfaces in rain, wind, hail and snow.

Is it weird I’m looking forward to that?  You can tell I’ve been most terribly bored.