A Somewhat Feeble Defence

procrastinate verb prəʊ ˈkræs.tɪ.neɪt

to keep delaying something that must be done, often because it is unpleasant or boring

(Cambridge Dictionary)

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes a piece of work that should take me, say, two hours, takes me two hours. These are joyous, momentous occasions. They restore my faith in... all sorts of things. Actually that isn't really true. They only restore my faith in myself. But I suppose under the header "self" lies all sorts of things I could be referring to, like, er, ability for one, I suppose? Competency, definitely competency. So, those two. They - the occasions when I complete a piece of work on time (not before, though, never before) - restore my faith in my ability and competency. Which is rather lovely, when it happens, which, as I mentioned in the opening line, it doesn't very often.

So I'm happy and pleased and maybe a little bit smug until I realise that the only reason I finished it in exactly two hours is because I had exactly two hours in which to finish it. Do you see? I had no choice. I was panicked into forced creativity. It doesn't count and must be stricken from the record. I lose, somehow.

Of course, it's now harder than ever for writers to keep focused when trying to bash something out on their laptops.

Not like that.

Facebook, for instance. Cursed, wretched thing. Why don't I just ignore it completely, or even deactivate my account, and get some work done? The answer is... well I'm not entirely sure what the answer is. The suggestion makes perfect sense to me. But would it really do any good? What about e-mails? Gotta have e-mails. Got to have 'em. So if I had no Facebook, I'd just be checking my non-existent new e-mail messages every ten minutes, which I do anyway. And then there's, you know, the internet. Who's that guy that played that guy in that thing? I might idly wonder while attempting to navigate some tricky opening paragraph. Buggered if I know... but I bet IMDb does! As for Wikipedia, I just don't want to talk about Wikipedia.

So, cunningly, I disconnect the internet. But my laptop has Solitaire. Now I hate Solitaire, and after my ninth or tenth game I remember this, so I close that down too. Now it's just me and the blank page... and maybe just one more quick game of Solitaire. Or Minesweep, do computers still come with Minesweep? No, this one doesn't, I'll just reconnect the internet and download a version... And so on. So it's the fault of computers, then? So when writers were using word processors and typewriters they didn't have any of these problems, right? Wrong. Ever heard of pens? Ever heard of paper? Ever heard of doodling?

So let's say for argument's sake that you could successfully ignore all these distractions like a professional, whatever one of those is. What happens then? Why, then the questions start, of course: Have you brushed your teeth? Are you seriously happy with the layout of your room? A snack, do you fancy a snack? I bet there's some Wotsits left. Somewhere. In the world. Go find them.

You might be reading this and thinking to yourself, "Gee, this guy is lame." And the truth is, I couldn't agree more. My only comfort is the knowledge that this is not an uncommon affliction. Down the ages, writers of all levels of experience and stature have done virtually anything to get out of writing. Not all of them, but enough to keep me from losing my happy thoughts completely. It can be incredibly satisfying, writing, but it can also be like volunteering daily to have your head put in a particularly belligerent vice. So if my constant meandering stops me from putting my own noggin through the computer screen, so bloody be it.