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I’ve been kidnapped by the International Procrastinator’s Army, who are a suprisingly motivated group, considdering their whole agenda is to put off coming up with an agenda. But they refuse to let me write, instead whispering unhelpful suggestions into my ear, “Why not go look around a bookstore for an hour or two? Or surf the net. That’s always fun.” Indeed it is but I have work to do! Arg!

I should be rewriting chapter 2 of my new novel, aplying the knowledge recently learned from Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential. At the very least I should sit down and try and finish the rough plot outline so I know where I want to end up with this thing. But Lucy’s laying on the bed, napping and she looks so comfortable, all curled up with her tail aroundher nose… maybe just a quick nap with the cat will clear my head and get me motivated… yeah, I’m not buying that one either.

There’s always the writer’s most useful tool, the good old glass of wine. That usually shuts off the chatter and lets things calm down abit so I can get some focused writing done. But do I really want to start sippng the vino this early in the afternoon? That’s not exactly a habit I want to start.

Arg! My captor’s are talking about hooking up the Play Station! Help!