I don’t
want to write this blog. In fact, I don’t want to write anything. For that
matter, I don’t even want to mark the grocery items on my delivery app so
someone in a green t-shirt can restock our larder. Other than attending Mystery
in the Midlands, all I’ve been in the mood of doing since we returned from
Alaska is playing games on my computer, watching TV, listening to music, and
reading.
And
reading.
And reading.
And reading.
I can proudly
report I’m caught up on my backlog of periodicals and I made a dent in my TBR
pile by reading Kitchen Confidential
(Anthony Bourdain), Poppy Done to Dead (Charlaine Harris), Someday Someday Maybe
(Lauren Graham), Black Fedora, Glitter and Glue
(Kelly Corrigan), The Hangman (Louise Penny), Kitty Kitty Bang Bang
(Sparkle Abbey), Beach Trip (Cathy Holton), Dead Storage
(Mary Feliz) and The President is Missing (Bill Clinton and James
Patterson), How
to Write Pulp Fiction (James Scott Bell), I Know What You Bid Last Summer
(Sherry Harris), The Day I Died (Lori Rader-Day), By Cook or By Crook (Maya Corrigan), Relatively Dead (Sheila Connolly), Classified as Murder (Miranda James), Necessary Ends (Tina Whittle), and Tiny Beautiful Things (Cheryl Strayed).
Instead, I’ve
also been keeping up with most of the blogs I need to pre-review, short stories
I am asked to critique for the Guppy Emerald’s group, two books that shall
remain nameless that I read for blurbing purposes, and reading and writing
Facebook posts.
I should be
seated in a chair and writing – not watching TV or playing on my computer.
Does meeting
friends for lunch, attending charity events, or posting list serv responses and
handling tasks for various volunteer organizations count at least for the
“seated” part?
When I was a
high school debater, we defined “should” as “ought to but not necessarily
will.” That’s me – I should be writing, but I’m not necessarily listening to
that voice inside my head.
I should be
kicking myself for wasting the past month, but I’m not. You know why? Because I
think taking a break (though maybe not this long) recharges one’s batteries.
The only problem is knowing when to know I’ve recharged enough and have now
slipped into procrastination. I think I reached that point today during a
spider solitaire game. I got bored. That’s a sure sign that it is time for me
to return to writing.
What about
you? What brings you back to the task at hand? Or, are you one of those who
only talks about writing?


