Everything is perfect, I’m sitting in a nice cafe that’s dead and playing soothing ballads through their speakers. My laptop is open and I have absolutely nothing to do but write…and yet I’m not writing. I’m playing poker, I’m rambling on Facebook, commenting on other people’s blogs and sending emails. I’m doing everything except writing the book I came here to write.
I find myself in this position all too often. Particularly now, now that I am on the cusp of completion. There’s something awfully frustrating about wasting time doing everything and anything other than what it is I want to do. I know I’m not the only one, the internet is full of other people complaining about this very same thing.
I wonder how many of them actually become successful authors though?