Procrastination Station

I woke up Saturday ready to get all my new stuff up on the critique site. This is involves me critiquing other people’s work. And to my utter delight two of my favorite fellow writers had posted new stuff.

But when I fired up my email, I saw that the KDP select time on Amazon had ended for three of mt stories.  I can now post the first three Uncommon Animals stories on other web sites.

However, this meant a truly ridiculous amount of time adjusting absolutely everything. Nothing I can’t do, but lots and lots of tedious, repetitive work. I have the templates, but everything needs to be changed. For seven stories (because I might as well prep the all the others, and save myself a future headache.)

On top of that, it’s that time of the month when I reread the published stories for typos, and I always catch at least one. I might as well do that for the three I need to get up. I can get the other three next weekend. Right?!



I got the covers done. I got my Smashwords template made. And then I sat down to edit. I burned through the first three stories.

But the husband had to go into work. And somebody had to clean up after the seven-year-old Gordon Ramsay wanna be made breakfast.

She worships this man. She’s SEVEN.

Next thing I knew it was nine o’clock, my daughter had complained about airing fast food commercials during her show (I mean, c’mon. Those burgers? I’d rather have the dollar. Why show me that? Gordon only cooks the highest quality food. Why show me garbage?) for the upteenth time, and my stuff still wasn’t up  on Smashwords.

I open up Scrivener, change my font, and settle in to conquer the world as the Germans. I love the bonus of getting a troop if I conquer a barbarian village.

What were you thinking?

Then I made a pudding pie for tomorrow, and eyed the mound of dishes.  As I pulled on my rubber gloves, the truth became clear.

I was procrastinating. Hard core, leg shaking, head aching, willing-to-really-consider-scrubbing-the-kitchen-floor-on-my-hands-and-knees procrastinating.

So I decided to embrace it. I did the dishes. I swept, I scrubbed, I goofed off. I wrote this long ass blog, and set it up to post.

And tomorrow when I wake up, I have not one single excuse to avoid that edit. Everything else is done. Drink a little coffee, start the chili, and kick it in the ass.

For every 100 words I type my chances of referencing Supernatural go up by 15%

I can’t wait until I can pay a few bucks above minimum wage for someone to do this stuff for me.




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