A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-And-Sixty-Nine

I have repeated the same procrastinative pattern as last week, not working on my writing project at all in the past several days, leaving it until the last day or two to get to work.  I know that I won't have too much difficulty with the writing itself, as I have a good sense of what I want to write, but I am still very slow to start.  I wanted to begin tonight, but the day has been long and busy, and I did not get to it.  I did my poetry, and I am here, writing this blog entry (though it will likely be rather on the short side), but I didn't get to the rest.  As I said last time, part of me thinks it is a desire for the pressure that comes with an approaching deadline, the fear of missing it.  I wonder, as well, if my procrastination isn't, in part, a response to the feeling of futility I often have, at the moment, around the work itself and the frustrating inability to make real progress in my publishing efforts.  I often feel a bit of fear as I push myself to begin to write, a fear that it is a waste, that nothing I am doing will make it out into the world beyond me.  It may be that I am over-analyzing, of course, but. even if it hasn't contributed to my procrastination, the feelings are certainly real.

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