It was extremely hot yesterday. And today it's chilly. I figure it's global warming in action. Heat makes me sleepy and unproductive. Heat is one of my excuses for not writing.
In the book by Louis E. Catron, "Playwriting: Writing, Producing, and Selling Your Play" he says that a playwright should have a credo. A credo starts at about eight pages and begins something like, "This I believe..." This will come in handy the next time I'm looking to procrastinate. But I can't possibly write another word until I formulate my credo! The credo knows all. The credo sees all. Writer know thyself and all that shinola. He also says that a credo will help a writer understand why they gravitate towards certain topics, why they enjoy the subjects they enjoy ... essentially you're looking for a pattern about ideas you feel strongly about. If you get stuck in writing, you can reread your credo and look for suggestions, reminders about topics which have significance.
See how I've procrastinated for a whole paragraph about the concept of writing something for procrastination purposes? Oooh, I'm good.
The cat, the bastard, woke me from a deep and delicous slumber by pulling down the curtain rod which holds my curtains. Soothing blue curtains wrenched from their perch by a vicious, evil, hungry feline, exposing the harsh light of daybreak. Then he sat on the curtains, so I couldn't move them. Because he hates me, and wants me to return BF to him because I clearly drove BF away. Although plausible, I have to remind myself he's a stupid cat. A stupid cat who knows my weakness, and that's sleep-deprivation.
The other problem with the heat is it creates the illusion I am fit. And I'm not fit, unless sweating for no reason equals fit.
