I meant to get started a million times today but things* kept getting in the way.
*Things being the book I’m reading (The Obelisk Gate by N.K. Jemisin), our hammock, the leaves dancing in the breeze, and distant memories of my childhood that left me feeling a mixture of nostalgia and wonder at how I used to see the world.
Those excuses seem silly now that it’s midnight and I’m still forcing myself to squeeze in this post and my daily 300 words of manuscript writing. Especially when I’d rather be sleeping, but that’s the habit I seem to be building.
Somehow my routine has become putting off my writing as long as humanly possible. It’s anyone’s guess why this methodology even works (just a simple publish button on a post no one else may ever read), but I’m grateful that it does.
A part of me still wants to pretend like I don’t really have to approach the manuscript today—it being a holiday and all. But a bigger part of me knows the only person I’d be cheating was myself.
Is it weird to anyone else that sometimes we have to bribe ourselves to do the things we most want to do?
(# Of words I wrote for my manuscript today: 332)