Anything but work.

No one procrastinates like a writer.

I have editing to do. This week, to avoid getting started, I have;

Packed up and sold most of my DVDs
Sorted out my books and donated about two thirds to a charity shop
Cleaned the flat
Wrote two articles
Went shopping
Made two large risottos
Took a wardrobe apart.

I don’t know why I do this. Well, I do. It’s rather intimidating, starting such a huge pile of work as editing an entire novel. I know I’ll start off bright and hopeful. I know about a third of the way in, it’ll start to feel like a drag. I’ll be moving like a slug. It’ll be too much work. I’ll never get through it. I’ll never get to the end. It’ll be a battle just to do a page or two.

And then, when I get near the end, I’ll just race through it, and get through dozens of pages all in one go. It just feels like a battle getting there.

Right. Enough procrastinating. I need to start.

Except – the toilet really could do with cleaning. And I need to do a bit more research and….

The House at Baker Street by Michelle Birkby

The Women Of Baker Street

Sent from my iPad


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