Tag Archives: writer’s block

The Inconclusive Dissection: Mind Half-Full or Half-Empty?

If we go on the premise that procrastinators think too much, then perhaps it’s reasonable to assume that my mind is really full. Well, better than empty, I guess? I guess! And, yes, I guess it could be a possible explanation as to why nothing tangible and concrete is coming out of my head. That’s because everything is so crammed inside, I guess!

Yes, my ideas are packed to the point of having no room to breathe or move, so they just stay within my mind and discuss among themselves. That is where all my stories are, I promise! And when they spend so long there, telling and retelling many variations over, they are already exhausted and left wanting in energy to escape. Furthermore, it feels as though the story has been told, we know the twists and turns, and feel as though the world should look inside to find out what we’ve done, instead of us always having to come out and show what we do. Understand? Understand!

I understand that I am probably deluding myself, but these thoughts are still true. If I think hard enough, I can save myself the step of publication. Save paper? But how do I convince people to take the plunge, to take that leap of faith, and just look inside my mind? To trust me? Trust me!

These were my thoughts during a dinner date in a restaurant with candles. Sitting across from me was an articulate, more good-looking that I deserve, attractive doctor, with experience. I sensed that that my luck may be changing and that it won’t be long before my mind starts opening up.

After a few sips of wine, and samplings of appetizer, I started getting a tingly sensation emanating from the inner portion of both stockingless legs underneath the table. I guess I just had a feeling when choosing what not to wear for the night. Just as he was proposing a toast to ‘I don’t know what’, I clanged his glass while debating within myself whether or not my partner is a surgeon or not. Admittedly, my relationship with him has not gotten deep enough yet for me to acquire this knowledge.

But, oh my, what if he were a surgeon? A surgeon! My imagination went wild in considering the possibilities. And I downed my glass of wine with sumptuous enthusiasm and determination. Would he have the tools and the requisite skills to dissect me? I couldn’t giggle outwardly at such a delicious thought so, instead, I crossed my legs so my skirt wouldn’t be as much of an intrusive censor, and I flexed and extended my ankle continuously, as if to communicate that my heart was jumping up and down with joy? Unequivocal joy!

If there was any way that he could do a professional dissection of me, but preferably with a particular emphasis on the artistic, then finally, at long last, he could really, literally, open up my mind and the world can see the unadulterated stories I have completed!  They’ll know I haven’t been lying all this time. They’ll trust me that I’ve been hard at work!

I suddenly felt incredibly sexy at that moment, more sexy that I’ve felt in my entire life. I didn’t know how much was left of my legs under the table at that point. With all the gyrations going on, I wouldn’t be surprised if I had exercised away all the skin and left them see-through. Oh, poor doctor, I could see it in his eyes, and his focus on his steak, that he had no clue what was going on under there!

I watched intently how he cut up the steak, savoring enough time to allow the juices to bubble over, so he could observe the satisfaction before making it disappear within his mouth, thereby intensifying the the senses at least twofold. That’s a good sign. Maybe he is a surgeon? A surgeon! The thought of him opening me up with such care and focus, like he did that steak, made me lose a button somewhere in my skirt.

I was so ready, I was so much in the mood for desire and intimacy. So, I quickly apologized to him for having to leave early and cut short our dinner together. I declined his offer for a ride, left him alone to finish the rest of his steak (as a surgeon should definitely not leave an operation half completed), and ran all the way home in such a mad rush that there was barely a trace of clothing on me when I arrived.

I have to work harder now. Think harder, deeper, even more intensely than ever before. Patience, my thoughts, patience, as I will bring more characters into an already tight space. But, patience, because now I know that you will soon all get to see the light of day. We must think together on this and get as much inside as possible before the surgeon arrives? Promise me that when that time comes for me to have an operation, you kids will not be hiding somewhere inside. All this work and to have him open me up to find nothing? Nothing!

-Dawn

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Procrastination’s Weak Rebuttal?

It may be time to toughen up the exterior a bit, so it reflects more ideally the fires burning within. I can’t say that many of the posts here have been very much of the aggressive nature, but is it now time? Rage, rage, rage.

It started with innocent chatting over warm drinks that must include honey, but then it somehow it came around to some heated debate about the merits of a blog with procrastination as its title theme. I was urged to changed the title because it automatically predisposes readers to have a certain expectation when they visit, and usually those impressions are not overly positive. And if the focus is on the writing, on a variety of creative and current event topics, then it all gets consumed under that overhanging shadow of procrastination. Writing that has nothing to do with procrastination would get unfairly interpreted under that rubric.

Furthermore, they say, we would waste too much time trying to pigeon hole or slot writing into some relation with procrastination when the topic had no business even being in the vicinity. In addition, we would have our hands tied and be forced to write about procrastination every odd post even though there is no reason to. (I guess they wouldn’t approve of this current post I’m crapping out right now) And this would take valuable time away from other more important writing. Then they went on a psychological bent: It’s as if even when there are no procrastination issues, we purposely seek them out and create procrastination problems for ourselves!

By this time, I was the only one finished my drink with honey because the others were too occupied expressing their views. If the drink wasn’t warm enough to begin with, I am sure I was easily able to reheat it to the boiling point within my intestines. However, by the time the steam was able to make its way back up my system towards my mouth, it all dissipated into the form of mild voice that asked weakly, ‘So what is wrong with this procrastination rubric?’

Oh, and then the chorus came! All together in tremendous chorus! The chorus came raining down in unison! They said people often don’t go too close to the actual writing because they are turned away by the monstrous label. They fear being bombarded by a big group of postings in high pitched voices lamenting and commiserating about how so and so didn’t do what, and how such and such didn’t get what done, and a whole bunch of it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay, I’m okay, it’s all okay, you’re human kind of discourse.

Finally, I stood up. I stood up to them, or maybe just stood up in front of them. And said confidentally, “I have to go to the washroom.” Must have been the drink mixed with honey. Instead, I went home and browsed through all the posts to try to spot themes of ‘I’m okay, you’re okay…’

Maybe I should tone down my aggressiveness?

-pat

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Silence Does Not Mean Assumed ‘Procrastination’

I am sorry. Since starting this “Procrastination Post” blog, in its current form, this has been the longest lag in between writings. I guess with the up front, obvious title of the blog, it already contains a ready made excuse for the gaps. Maybe it sets up the dismal expectation to expect many intervals of stunted growth, regression, stops and starts, and in inordinate number of apologies.

Sorry, I am not going to apologize, and I cannot accept our ‘Procrastination’ title as a motive to provide a convenient reason and acceptance of failure that is inevitable. I cannot. It’s as if we purposely put this label in bold font right out front, carrying placards to set the bar real low in order to minimize the impact from the fall when we trip.

No. I must insist that it is to the contrary of all these assumptions. It is to show, explore, consider what value can come out of digging ourselves out of the hideous hole we started with. And that we refuse to accept our predicament and struggle even more desperately to fight and climb. And that we will write to reflect light on another side of our world underneath. Our label is not something to trip over, step on, nor to foreshadow a message of upcoming weakness and disappointment.

And if I am, in fact, simply incriminating myself in this latest post and providing more evidence to fuel previous assumptions, then at least we can still be the prosecutors of our own guilt.

Thanks for your patience over past couple of weeks, knowing that even while we are silent, we are still writing and digging even more profusely than what can be sighted here.

-pat

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Can I Get Another Set of Eyes to Look at This?

Hello. I am Pierce. I’ve been away. Doing what? Living out and piloting another idea for this procrastinator diary post. That’s my modus operandi. Have an idea. Go away. Leave. Disappear. Not write. Not write. Again, not write. Be left in peace with my procrastination. So, I can play out my ideas. Put it in action. Do some experiments. Come back. And, write.

Here is what I found during my time away. That, ironically, my isolated time spent alone has not been very productive. There was no urgency. There were no other set of eyes. There were no threats of evaluation, feedback, or witnesses to give evidence that I was living. Nobody noticed. Honey, telling people what I did during the day does not have the same effect as showing them directly what I do as they watch me.

This result and realization surprised me. I didn’t know. Look at me. I’m ashamed. I’m not as tough, insensitive, nor oblivious as I thought I was. Look at me. I’m writing. I’m working. Look at me. I need you. It’s so hard for me to say, but it is. God, I need people.

Is it so that I am not as intrinsically motivated as I thought? Funny. During this time away, I got more accomplished in two hours in the evening with all kinds of people buzzing around in the home and not much done during 8 hours of silence during the day. Is it the people I need or the sense that time is running out in the day?

Maybe I do need the pressure. Both with time and with people. So, for my next hiatus, can I test this out by throwing myself into an audience at every opportunity? Have an open house accompany me wherever I go?
However, if I end up getting the eventual stage fright, and don’t go through with this, procrastinators of course always have a backup plan to avoid being thrown into the social fire.

I’m already hard at work conjuring up which imaginary eyes to permanently engrave into my mind, so that daggers threaten to rain upon me at my every move. And just in case my imagination fails me, I’ve been drawing numerous eyes so intense that they need not other bodily features to disclose the identities they have provided for eternal history. These eyes ranging from all time will be placed all over my wall in case I try to waste my life again. On one upper corner example, from Zeus to Sisyphus to Medea to Kafka to Plath to Thurber. With these eyes giving me attention, how dare I not take risks to go deeper!

-Pierce

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Headshakes instead of Handshakes (A ‘Physical’ Introduction to Pierce)

Sorry. Been here since the start, but just didn’t have the gumption to say anything. That’s the problem. While other procrastinators, viewers, readers, friends, strangers, seem to be having fun removing their inhibitions in this blog, I, I, can’t even arrive at the beginning of my stuttering. If it makes any sense, I am falling behind the procrastinators, so what category is that? There is just no vocabulary for how one can be so invisibly present for all these weeks.

Anyways, I’ve finally come to accept my punishment. I am Pierce, lost in my paragraphs I’ve never formed,  and I would like you to hurt me. As I’ve been pretty much void of outward emotion all my life, as I stand here, I would like you to just take out all your rage you have of unfulfilled dreams against this punching bag I volunteer as myself.

Since I have never been able to express my mental hopes into a communicable form, I wish that some physical stimulation would deliver the urgency in most blunt form. I beg that you passionately beat it out of me. Although sounding cruel, it is with hope that I ask you to try this corporal method to help me rescue whatever ideas are currently decaying within me because I cannot give them breath. Up to now, I speak as though ideas do not exist. I promise, promise, they are there, and will manifest with the appropriate threats.

So, can you do that for me? Threaten me! Just physically overwhelm me! I need to be put in a ‘fight’ or ‘flight’ state where my biology takes over and spurs me into the extreme urgency of action. I’m flat, flat, flat, flatlining constantly in between ‘fight’ and ‘flight.’ Always, in between. Maybe, hopefully, with my immediate health at risk, with pain ready to commence, I will finally discover what is it approximately that I do…that I may actually under extreme conditions, do more than just stand there and think. And think. And think.

-Pierce

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Never Really Starting…

Exciting! Butterflies! Anxious! Motivated! A whole range of emotions are going through my mind right now as I make my first entry into this diary. There is a significant amount of fear since this project may actually force me to confront issues and areas that I want to avoid, but hopefully it will also make me accountable.

There is no hiding the fact that I have a procrastination problem. But I guess the purpose is that by keeping a consistent record of my process, I can learn from it, others can learn from it, and I can reflect and put into action some kind of change. Will I be very much different by the end of this? Well, let’s try to get there first.

Already, in this brief initial entry, many may have already noticed a problem. I keep on introducing and introducing, setting up, and preparing, and never getting to any core of the matter. In fact, I think this is true with many of my writing, and maybe why I never seem to follow through to any satisfactory completion.

I admit, I do a lot of preamble because I fear getting to the meat. Maybe I have no substance? Will people see my nakedness if I write to the point, revealing that I hold nothing of importance?

By the time I talk around everything, I feel like I’ve exhausted the topic and brainwashed myself into thinking that the quantity of words actually equate to a worthwhile effort.

Sobering. My whole life has been nothing more than a prelude of introductions! Useless piece of….

-Dawn

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