I think I did pretty well up until today in terms of being productively self employed. I secured a new feature story, I interviewed a zillion people, I worked on a draft. Today was my first long, long day of just writing. So what did I do? I bought my sister a graduation present, I worked on the shower drain with a piece of wire and a knitting needle, I ate some salmon, and I putzed around on the internet.
I didn't start drafting at all. I almost took a nap. I don't understand what's wrong with me. The story I'm supposed to be working on is fascinating to me--profiles of two women I find fascinating. But I just couldn't get started. I think maybe my body thinks I'm on some sort of vacation. Maybe I'll go mow the grass, even though Corey likes doing that. All the neighbors are doing it...
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I think it's OK if you mow the grass, buy presents, surf the net, etc. - you've got to write when it feels right, right? There's no point feeling guilty about doing things you need to do anyway, or even about relaxing a bit. You'll write the stories, and they'll be better for having fermented in your head for a few extra days.
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