A- On not writing on a sunny day

I surely must be the world's laziest writer. Today I have the luxury
of a whole day on my novel, uninterrupted, undisturbed and nothing else
to do. So far I've chugged out five hundred words in three hours.
Aggg!

It's not like I don't have anything to write. This isn't writer's
block.

I don't believe in writer's block, it's just a trick of your anti-ego.
You think 'I don't know what to write. I have nothing to write.' But
what your anti-ego is really whispering is: 'I have nothing interesting
to write. Nothing that anyone would want to read.' It's part of a long
self-depreciating slide that goes from 'Who would pay to read what I've
written' right through to 'I'm a worthless individual, and I hate
myself.' So I refuse to believe in writer's block, because it's just
another way of beating yourself. I'd rather face up to the beating and
say, yes, what I write might be a load of crap, but so what? People
will read any old crap, so that's a start. Plus I talk a load of crap
all the time, and I haven't been pulped in the street - yet (although,
there were a few near misses). So I write whatever comes into my head
and call it my novel. People I tell are impressed (in the way one might
be impressed if a mentally retarded child manages to tie his
shoelaces). Some even try to blag a free copy or expect free autographs
(they don't get them). My partner doesn't complain that I come to bed
at 2am every morning and my boss doesn't seem to mind (or notice?) me
catching zzzz's at my desk. And I get to spend 1000 words a night in
front of the WP. Everyone's a winner.

But today, with sun frying outside, I can't settle. I've washed the
entire laundry basket, cleaned a window that rain washed just last week
and washed up. I don't mean dragging plates through water, I mean with
a cloth and Fairy too. There was rubbing involved. Now I'm gorging on
Curlywurly (didn't that used to be two words?) and Spunkmeyer Muffins.
Damn things, let me write! I wanted 4000 words from this day. But no,
My body wants to watch Freda, that was bought for my birthday, and make
a photo-montage, and read the books I bought for holiday and plant up a
tub in the garden and make papier-m?ch? balloon stickmen (trust me,
it'll be fun). And you know what? This regime is in for a change, and
not through some legally dubious invasion, but from within. Revolt!
Uprising! Menslaughter put down your pen and step out, into the
light.