Writing is always a pleasure. Even when it is an agony, it is a pleasure.
When you are a little rusty, like I am now, the agony often becomes acute. I know what I want to write about, I know it will come out if I just switch off the TV, focus myself and put pen on paper.
Instead, I watch the US election debate, talk to a friend or two, practice my Italian a bit.
All aspiring writers fall prey to it, those who come out the other side actually become writers. I must remember that as I go back to my writing, to the pleasure of writing, to the pleasure-pain of not writing, to the absolutely essential daily exercise of my writing muscles.
Writing, here I come.
So true about the procrastination, but I am not doing anything useful like watching the debates (I already voted actually) or learning another language (my French is limited to labels in the grocery).
Ah, procrastination! The writer’s great passtime.
I’ve already become a pro at that part. Now I just need to become a pro at the actual writing and I’ll be all set. 😉