Writing, like everything else in life, is a head game. It’s learning exactly what games your particular head plays that makes it interesting.
I have learned that when I don’t want to write something, because I know, for instance, that it is the climax and the whole book depends on it doing well, that I will stall myself. I will find myself wiping out the kitchen sink, thinking how I really need to clean the whole house. And the windows are really dirty, why didn’t I notice that before? When all of that is done, then I can write.
Or maybe I could write if I just finished weeding, and maybe if the house was just quiet. Maybe I should wait until the TV is off, and yeah, who am I kidding? My house is never quiet and there are always weeds to kill.
Or I will pick a time to write, thinking okay, on that day–the day after my taxes are in, say, and I’m done with everything on my desk, then I will write.
It takes a while. I may do this a few times. But I have learned, when I keep putting things off like that, to examine the reason. And then, if I finally figure out that I’m afraid that I will botch the scene, the only way around it is to just sit down right then and write something. It might still suck, but I remind myself that I can edit it. That takes some of the fear out.
Somehow though, I have to catch myself at the cleaning.