The Habit Of Doing It Now

My e-book is published as you might have noticed in my ‘About Me‘ page. I wrote this book in 2010 after I came back from the 9-month sojourn around South-East Asia.

The book writing itself took about 3 months, the procrastination part took about 6 months.

I came back home in April 2010.

I could have started writing my book then, but I decided to linger, dawdle, scratch my butt, and do nothing for 6 months.

I finally started writing and finished the book in 2010.
Then, I decided to edit the book. I procrastinated with that for about 2 years. I dillied and dallied. I did nothing for days. Then I would do one page, look at how little I have done, get scared of the project and stop for a month. Finally, I decided I couldn’t make it better than it was. I had to publish it or I would be sitting on my deathbed, wishing, hoping, dreaming. Wishing I had published the book when I was 29. Hoping that someone would find it in my possessions and publish it.

Dreaming that I would become a famous published author post-death.

I didn’t want to do that anymore. I published it in its mangled, raw state. The important thing is that it is out there. It is on Amazon, and it is being read by individuals who want to read it. It is out in the ether, generating momentum.

I can finally say I am a published author and feel good about it.

The true question here is, Why did I procrastinate for so long? Why? I had the finished product. Was I afraid it would be too much work to publish it? No, I knew that Amazon does it almost instantly for you.

Was I afraid that I wouldn’t have time to go to my full-time job after I became a famous published author?

No! I was afraid that my book wasn’t perfect and I would be ridiculed due to spelling mistakes, grammar and lazy writing.
Perfection stopped me in my tracks. I was immobile. I was paralyzed. I wasted time and energy on procrastination, and on berating myself for procrastinating. I have to thank the lucky stars, that I finally did it, otherwise, I would have definitely been sitting in a rocking chair at 80, telling the stories to my god-children, who would look at each other with a smirk on their face, laughing at the crazy old aunt, who makes up stories in her sleep. Now, I can show them the book, wave my cane and say, ‘I’m not crazy. I actually did this stuff. It was a long time ago, but it is true. Now get me my teeth so I can go down to dinner.’ Or something to that effect.
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