Seven Posers Posing

I'm not looking for an answer, not really. But why is writing so hard? How come when I'm not writing, it's the only thing I want to do? But when I sit down to do it, it's a struggle to keep typing, to stay at my desk? Maybe there's not enough pressure. Maybe I need firmer deadlines. Maybe I'm just a big baby who likes to make excuses.

I'm working on another ten-minute play now, in the hope that if I tackle smaller projects and finish them, I'll stay motivated.

Lots and lots of books have been written on this subject. Mostly by authors who procrastinate writing their own great work by getting bogged down in writing limbo and then telling us all about it. Similar to what I'm doing here, but I'm not charging you for the pleasure. So basically, I shouldn't feel bad because these feelings are common, but I shouldn't let it hold me back. And if I really want sympathy, I can pull one of those many motivational tomes off my shelf -- that I purchased in weaker moments -- and have a pity party, table for one.

Or I could start drinking at eight in the morning. Bloody Marys appear to be an appropriate breakfast cocktail.