facebook-pixel

Brodi Ashton: You, me and the procrastination monkey

Not even thinking about Godzilla and King Kong can distract from the beauty of daffodils in bloom.

Brodi Ashton

I’ve loved seeing signs of spring. One day it’s nice and sunny, and the next day it’s snowy. But on my daily walk today, daffodils were blooming everywhere, undaunted by the ice. It was such a beautiful sight, I stopped thinking about the age-old question of why Godzilla has it out for Kong (I bet it was over a girl), and I started thinking about new beginnings.

And then I stopped thinking about new beginnings and promptly got writer’s block. Usually when people ask me about writer’s block, I give this advice: butt-in-chair-hands-on-keyboard. But my butt is in my chair and my hands are on the keyboard and here I am, sitting, staring at the walls, as blocked as Trump’s social media accounts.

Then there’s the enemy to all writers. The procrastination monkey. He always wants to play. And just like writer’s block, he wants me to fail. (I’m not sure if you know any writers, but self-sabotage comes quite naturally for us. In fact, since I brought up “Godzilla vs. Kong,” I actually started watching it. As I type. Because the procrastination monkey wants to play.)

A friend once said to me, “Writing is like breathing for you, right?” Sure, if breathing comes and goes and sometimes there’s a plastic bag over my head. I’ve written eight books and countless columns, and as I struggled to finish each of those books, there was always a point where I thought that writing a book is an impossible task and I have no idea how I wrote the others.

I’m a writer who needs lots of ambient noise. I wrote my first book with “Little House on the Prairie” on a television right next to my computer. That little half-pint was a rascal. I always wanted to live in their house. It seemed so cozy.

I guess that’s why I don’t mind the lockdown. My house isn’t big, but it’s cozy. I have kids half the time and an oven I rarely use, and the Domino’s delivery man knows us by name. (My younger autistic son will eat only pizza at my house. The other day, I tried to get him to eat chicken and he said, “That’s only a Dad house food.” That’s the rule.)

OK, the movie just finished and here’s my opinion. It was a lot of fun, and exactly what the world needs right now, as we are emerging from a dark year. Just like daffodils, we won’t be daunted.

And in case the daffodils do freeze, please don’t tell me. I like my version of events better.

Brodi Ashton is a New York Times best-selling author who lives in the Salt Lake City area. She’s also an occasional columnist for The Salt Lake Tribune.

Comments:  (0)