The Great Procrastinator…

I am he who procrastinates….

Today I have sat at my computer, fingers poised at the keyboard… for six hours. I had a plan when I first sat down. I would sit here and knock out three thousand words before I could get up and do anything else. Alas I have not achieved anywhere near that. It’s not been a total loss though. I have managed to get my PC (which I am using now) up and running again. I am as yet unsure what happened to it. Chief suspect was a catastrophic hard disk failure. I say this because at anyone time I have at least two virus checkers running as well as windows own firewall so I don’t think it was a virus. How am I ever going to be able to call myself a writer though if I lack some of the most basic and fundamental qualities of a successful writer? I am at heart lazy, unmotivated and have no imagination what so ever. Yet having read the musings and thoughts of several well known writers I come to the conclusion that I am not alone in this and that they too have also had times of great self doubt.

I must persevere.

Part of thinks that I should put my ambitions on hold, go off and study some literature or creative writing course or some other mystical qualification that says to everyone that you’re an able wordsmith. Then again I think why? Why not just read shit loads and write shit loads more? Surely my craft will improve with time?

Time.

Another one of my fundamental flaws is a lack of patience. I want things to happen now. What is it I want to happen though? Well, wouldn’t it be great if your job were to write your own stories? You could roll out of bed at whatever time you want, knock out a few sentences and maybe have a glass of wine as you contemplate a walk along the beach with your faithful hound. Some say that professional sportsmen have the best jobs. I don’t think so. I think the best job is that of the artist who gets paid well to show people the innermost workings of their warped and mysterious mind. I am not so naïve to believe however that a life such as this is within my grasp or indeed within the grasp of ninety-nine percent of the population. Else we’d all be doing it wouldn’t we? So what do I want? One published story would be terrific. Not by anybody either. If I could just have one published story by a reputable publishing house I’d be happy with that. My name would live forever then. Not so much that everyone knew about it, perhaps a minor underground hit. It matters not. I would be immortal.

I know I don’t write too much here in this journal. I am sorry. I do however write a great deal of short stories though. I am forever knocking out the weirdest shit whether I am at home or at work. I may someday share some on here. Not till they’ve done the rounds though. I have this fear that if I put them one here then I can never submit them for publication anywhere else. In fact I think that is actually the case. Oh well, I will continue to pop in from time to time and moan about whatever it is I feel like at that time. You’ll just have to put up with that I’m afraid. Bye for now.

M:-)

Author: Mark S Thompson

Okay, so these things are kind of hit and miss. If you’re reading this then I am thankful to you for taking the time out of your day to do so. I’ll be honest, when I think of myself as a writer, I kinda cringe. Don’t get me wrong, it is the dream, it's​ just I never really believe it will go anywhere. When I think back to the day that I first knew I loved writing, and I mean really knew, I see myself sitting in an English lesson at secondary school. The school was called Wrotham and is in the county of Kent, England. As far as I know, it's still there. English was far and away my favourite subject. The best bit was when the teacher gave the class a selection of words and asked us to make up a story that either contained those words or was about those words, you know. At other times we would be given the first sentence and then write what happens next. Good times. Many times my work would reflect what I had recently read and it would be okay. Nothing special, just okay. On one occasion though I wrote about a merman called Finchy and can remember going into so much depth and detail about him and the underwater kingdom he lived in. I really enjoyed writing that and it must have shown because my teacher commented on it. She was really impressed and loved the story. That was it for me, my moment. Now when I write I think back to those great times and to that story. Hopefully, I’ll write something that you, the reader, will be moved to comment on. For me, there is no greater elixir View all posts by Mark S Thompson