Nesting and Other Fun Ways to Procrastinate

I finally made myself sit down and read my book. And guess what? It wasn’t nearly as painful as I thought it was going to be. I was actually able to read the entire thing in about a half day I didn’t feel the need to crawl under a blanket in shame nor did I throw the entire book at the wall. I did make heaps of notes, tagged every page where I felt I had a plot hole, and generally tried to read the story like I would if I was beta reading for someone else.

So, now that I’ve got a manuscript ready to be edited and I should start editing, right? I mean, other than writing this blog post of course. The book is out of the box and I’m so ready to edit. I am. But first…

Yep. So I’m procrastinating again. It all started with a genuine attempt at getting my office ready for editing…

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My Book is in a Box

It’s been a few weeks now since I finished the first draft of my book. Which means I’ve let it rest and now I’m supposed to start reading it. It sits yet in its protective box, the paper crisp and untouched. The book that I paid a rush fee to have printed. So what gives? Why can’t I make myself read it?

Because I’m busy. I’m busy with other things, things that I must apparently do right now. Such as…er…um…well…

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Adulting is Overrated and Underwhelming

I like to step on crunchy leaves. And use my toe to crack the thin ice on the top of puddles. I have ordered the kid’s meal and let the counter clerk assume I’m feeding a child. I’m old enough to have a child. I’m old enough that my kid could have a kid and yet I still like to touch the sea creatures at the tide pond in the aquarium.

I work, I pay my bills, I pay my taxes, I pay for my groceries. I’m an adult. Ish. Continue reading “Adulting is Overrated and Underwhelming”

Save the Life of a Tree with Formatting Hijinks

To prepare for reading the behemoth that I’ve birthed, I decided I needed the entire thing printed out. I thus compiled the document, opened it in Word and proceeded to stare at the result in shock.

That’s right. Four hundred and forty-six pages. I’m pretty sure if I try sending a document of that size to my HP Photosmart C3100 series inkjet, the print cartridges would spontaneously dry and shrivel in terror. I went to the Staples site to look at the cost of printing four hundred and forty-six pages. At eight cents per page, the total came to a little over thirty-five dollars. Not bad, but that’s still a lotta paper.

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Whaaat? I Wrote a Book??

Today, for the first time, I typed the words THE END. At the actual end of a novel. A real(ish) novel. It doesn’t matter that I may have skipped a crucial scene or two in that final chapter, or if there is a character I forgot about, or if there are other gaping plot holes ’cause as Steven Pressfield writes, first you must

Cover the Canvas

My canvas is covered. With more than 110,000 words. Yay! Yay me? Now all I have to do is…uh…well…

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