If it is true that the more I write, the more I write (all the while never getting any better at using a comma), then it is also true that the less I write, the less I write. In fact, the less I write, the less I do anything.
I don’t want to finish my novel even though the ending is in sight. I don’t want to work on my art even though I’ve got a show and have spent money recently on supplies. I don’t want to clean even though really the bathroom is one more day away from scary. I don’t want to go to work either–I’ve got no ‘even though’ for this one. I just don’t want to grade any more homework. Okay, saying I don’t want to isn’t entirely accurate. I want to and then I don’t.
I do want to do things I shouldn’t do or don’t like–shopping and smoking, for instance. I find shopping anywhere other than a bookstore almost intolerable, but I get restless and think–let’s spend money! I’m killing time during the class break and I think–I could join the smokers! I don’t do it, but I think about it.
What does that mean when you’d rather take up a suicidal bad habit rather than FINISH YOUR NOVEL? Long-term goal–publication or lung cancer? Hmmm…
Pledge of the week (for my own entertainment): On Tuesday when I meet my writing group, I’m going to sit alone and write out the ending of this damn book.
Or you’ll know who I’m hanging out with at work…no, I won’t really ask for a cigarette. Second-hand smoke will be enough.