I had a topic for a post today, but what with one thing and the other--oh hell. The truth is, I just lazed off today. I didn't write anything. I just kind of piddled around the house. I think I mean "fiddled." Yeah. Fiddled around. Piddled makes it sound like I haven't been housebroken. As you can see, the writing machine definitely needs a tune up.
I definitely have a problem with procrastination when it comes to the writing. Call it writer's block, call it avoidance, call it laziness, which is my label for it. The upshot is, you ain't getting a blog today. You're getting me rambling along for a couple of hundred words on whatever hits me as my fingers move. Feel free to skim. Nothing of earth-shaking importance will be imparted herein today.
Don't panic, I'm not sick. It's nothing physical. Just a case of the ol' don't feel like its. At least for this one I can do stream of consciousness and call it a blog. You should see the hair-pulling that goes on when I have to produce a flash scene for Shapeshifter Seductions and the creative well has run dry.
How can you tell when I'm on a block or just don't feel like writing? Take a look at my house. It'll be clean. When I don't want to write, I put it off by doing housework. The other day I spray-cleaned the kitchen counters and scrubbed the accumulated grease spatter off the side of the fridge. I filled 10 bags with raked leaves for pickup and gave the lawn one final mow for the season. I'm going to have to take the mower out and get the blades sharpened for spring. Maybe that's what I'll do instead of writing next week's blog.
There's also the allure of cable TV and all its delightfully trashy reality shows. Between Duck Dynasty and Call of the Wildman, I expect the History Channel to change its name to Your Cable Redneck Station any day now. Instead of writing first thing in the morning, I've been getting up to watch the Buffy reruns on FX. This morning Spike got his soul back and Xander saved the world. Ah, Spike. Now I remember why I loved him so much, the surly, amoral bastard.
Oh, and for those worried about the stray cat situation, Momma and her kittens have been relocated to a local Amish farm, where they'll have a warm barn to sleep in and all the rodents they can chase. Farm cats are working cats, so they won't be bored.
Okay, that looks like sufficient verbiage. Back to writing avoidance. I've started rereading Stephen King's It. Sucker clocks in at over 1000 pages, small type. That ought to keep me occupied for a couple of weeks at least.