The Truth About Writers

I know one thing about us writers. We are the world's best procrastinators.

We either have the tidiest, cleanest houses--you know, because that toilet needs to be scrubbed or the kitchen floor mopped before we get our butts into a chair to devote time to writing. Or we get sucked down the rabbit hole of the internet, stumbling from one blog to the next, calling it "doing research," which is one reason I don't write historical fiction. I'd spend way too much time researching the history and culture of 15th century Scotland. Or whatever.

Case in point: Today, I used a vacation day so I could devote my entire day to writing my second manuscript while the boys are at school and TEACHER HUSBAND presides over the AP World History exam. The house would be blessedly quiet. Perfect for writing, writing, writing.

What did I do? I spent the morning scrubbing the kitchen counters. And not just a cursory wipe down either. No ma'am. I cleared everything off the counter tops and scrubbed them down with lemon verbena scented all purpose cleaner. I cleaned the toaster and my water kettle for making tea. I reorganized. Got the gunk off the back splash.

I read a little. Paused for lunch. Read some more. Got "my hair did." (It looks fabulous, by the way.)  Only now with one hour and twenty minutes to go before the bus pulls up to the curb and my boys come spilling out along with the other neighborhood kids, I sit down to write.

Yeah. Us writers? We are the queens and kings of procrastination!