I’ve been doing a lot of baking recently. And while I don’t intend it to be a form of self-torture, it really kind of is, because I’m on my first serious diet in… well, ever. So I’m baking, but not eating. And I’ll pull a couple of loaves of bread out of the oven and think, “Okay, now I’m done for a while.” But then a few hours later I’ll find myself staring at a new recipe and thinking, “Well… I could just go ahead and whip this one up, too, and throw it in the freezer! For later! For when I don’t have time to bake!”
The thing is, I don’t have time to bake now. Because I’m working on something, and I should be working, not baking.
Here’s something I believe without reservation: There is no such thing as writer’s block. I don’t believe that it exists. I have never not been able to write; often what I write is complete crap, but I write it. I push through. Later I go back and weed through the crap and make it into something better. But it’s not like I can’t write. On the other hand… after I reach a certain number of words that make me want to stab myself in the eyes repeatedly, I know it’s time to start baking.
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