See, my desk IS tidy and it IS organised.
And it IS a metaphor for my mind.
(Hmmmm. I have failed to convince even myself, except for the bit about the metaphor)
When I DO tidy my desk, I suffer from piles that no haemorrhoid cream can touch:
And it makes me gloomy and dull-brained.
I'm just having a bad desk day today. It's been brought on by a surfeit of admin. The thing is, I can write pages of novels and screenplays and stories for children and poetry and...and...regardless of the state of my desk. I simply don't notice.
Today, I have to write query letters and synopses. The state of my desk (and my mind) somehow seems to MATTER. And these tedious but necessary tasks seem to take so much TIME.
So, I shall tidy my desk and my mind. THEN I'll be able to write such a cracking letter that no literary agent for children's fiction will be able to resist me.
I think I have procrastination down to a fine art.
"I think I have procrastination down to a fine art." not me, my procrastination powers have been on a first draft loop for 43 years... however painful and embarrassing that is to admit :)
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