If I could give myself marks for procrastination, I think I'd score an 11. Since coming back to the UK, I've discovered even more ways to postpone the time when I actually sit down at my Mac and start to type my novel.
1. The House needs cleaning.
Well it does. But it doesn't have to be done all in one go and it doesn't have to include cleaning all the shelves in the every cupboard. Plus washing and scrubbing that Magimix that you were given ten years ago and have used just once. Ah, you tell yourself, I might use it this time. Yes, and rats might make ratatouille.
2. The Garden needs .......(fill in the blanks)
The Garden always needs something done to it. That's the whole point of gardens. They grow. And they never stop growing. Maybe you should just buy plants that never need pruning, never grow, never die and never need watering. Like plastic plants.
3. That cup of tea needs making.
And whilst you are there, might as well make a bacon butty to go with it. Of course, you'll have to sit down to eat it with the telly on. Ah there's an interesting programme on the sex life of the Andean cockroach. Big Brother's on next too, goody. (Five hours later, the Mac is till unopened and untouched.)
4. I need to blog.
My website is calling my name. Feed me with words Stroke me with your eloquence. Satisfy me with sentences. So, here I am, writing here and not writing there. So it goes. At least, this is now finished. So maybe I can return to the novel. But then, I hear some washing calling my name......
5. Twitter hasn't heard from me for a while.
Definitely my favourite way to procrastinate. Twitter misses me. It misses my unique blend of charm and wit. It needs the careful way I retweet, adding just a word or two of well-chosen bonhomie to an otherwise boring tweet on the sex lives of Andean cockroaches. I need to read about other writers pushing their exciting books on the sex life of the Andean cockroach. Even more important, I need to read every tweet from every spam bot in Russia. Cyrillic always looks so pretty, don't you agree?
Finally, after a couple of hours, I may get down to writing. But I glance at my cup of tea. It's gone cold. Maybe a fresh one would lubricate the words. And a bacon butty.....
Procrastination is an art form that I have raised to the levels of Picasso. What's your favourite diversion from writing?