My Confession About Productive Procrastination

I have an organized desk, a new notebook, a vastly improved first page, and a growing social media presence. I have taken craft courses, walked miles with writer friends, and could probably write a dissertation on legendary adventurer Everett Ruess at this point.

What I don't have? A finished outline.

Welcome to my world of productive procrastination, where I’m working my ass off yet getting nothing done in terms of the goal at hand: finishing my manuscript.

What is it?

Regular procrastination looks like scrolling Instagram in my yoga pants at 2 p.m. and feeling vaguely terrible about it.

Productive procrastination is sneakier. It looks like working. It feels like progress. At the end of a task, I can pat myself on the back and cross something off my to-do list. I end the day genuinely tired, having been genuinely busy, but not one step closer to my actual goal.

I should have a Masters in Productive Procrastination.

Here's my greatest hits list from the past few months:

Cleaning my desk. This one has become a full ritual. There's something about a clutter-free workspace that tricks my brain into thinking the writing is about to happen. The desk looks great. Then the next tiny thing on my to-do list grabs my attention. It’s something I can cross off quickly, so I tackle it, and feel the satisfying scratch of the pen over the written task. Before I know it, cleaning my desk led to another thing, and another thing, and now that it’s finally time to sit down to work on my outline, my time is up. It’s time to pick Parks up from pre-school.

Searching for the perfect to-do list notebook. I have driven (I will not tell you how many miles) in pursuit of the exact right notebook. It must be spiraled. Hardcover. I’d prefer grid lined. What layout will finally be the one that unlocks my productivity? Reader, I have not found it. I have, however, found some beautiful notebooks and ended up landing on a disc ring binder from Amazon that still is not working the way I imagined.

Social media. Okay, this one I'll defend a little. Building an author platform is real work, and connecting with readers genuinely matters. It is also, conveniently, the most fun form of procrastination I have yet to discover—especially since my confidence boost I mentioned in April’s newsletter. Instagram is no longer giving me as much anxiety since I’ve started being intentional about not giving a s—— about what others think about me. My outline, on the other hand, is picking up the slack.

Taking craft courses. Also technically real work! I attended the Tennessee Writers Workshop recently and picked up some genuinely useful techniques, including a session on deep outlining that I'll tell you more about in a moment. I am improving my craft…for the book I am not finishing.

Research. Oh, research. As a historical fiction author, this is my greatest weakness and my greatest enjoyment. I know everything. Every publicly available detail about Everett Ruess, the legendary young adventurer who disappeared into the wilderness in 1934 (and who serves as a main character in my second timeline), is somewhere in my brain. I have gone down research rabbit holes to the point that it’s shocking I haven’t traveled to Utah to search for his remains myself. His life and legacy are endlessly fascinating. Learning more about what makes him tick is also, if I'm being completely transparent, a beautiful way to avoid the outline.

The Plot Twist

Here's where things get interesting, and a little bit humbling.

I went to the Tennessee Writers Workshop in Nashville a few weeks ago, and something unexpected happened at an event called Author's Got Talent. The concept is simple and terrifying: a panel of literary agents listens to first pages read aloud (anonymously) and raises a hand the moment they'd stop reading. Three hands up, and the reading stops.

Mine was one of only two or three pages read in full without three agents’ hands being raised!

That's the good news.

The feedback? Two agents (who did not raise their hands, mind you) said my writing tends toward the “purple prose.” It’s too "flowery.” Too descriptive. But I note, in self defense and unwarranted optimism, it wasn't enough to make them raise their hands. Purple Prose is very easy to fix and course correct as I revise my manuscript—if I ever get to that point. Ha!

So I came back from Nashville with real momentum. I had confirmation that my tension and stakes work enough for a panel of agents to keep reading past the first page. I also have clear and actionable feedback to act on.

I have every reason to sit down and get to work.

And yet… I should probably move my entire life’s calendar to Notion because that looks like a more efficient way to keep track of all the plates I’m spinning. Oh, wait. There I go again. Add it to the list of productive procrastination techniques.

What's Actually Going On

I've done a lot of thinking about this, mostly during the time I was cleaning out and organizing the pantry, and my closet—when I should have been outlining—and I think I know what's happening.

I'm scared to finish.

Not scared of the work itself. Because here's the thing I keep proving to myself over and over: when I actually sit down and force myself into the outline, I get completely lost in it. I enjoy it. The story opens up. The pieces start connecting. It's genuinely fun.

It's not the work that stops me. It's the thought of the work.

There's something deeply comfortable about a book that exists only in my imagination. In my head, it is exactly as good as I dream it will be. The moment I put it fully on the page—outlined, revised, finished—it will become real. And real things can be judged. Real things can fall short of the version that lives in my mind.

I imagine a lot of us who write carry this particular fear. I can dress it up as perfectionism, or busyness, or the genuine need to research one more thing. But underneath it is something simpler and more vulnerable: What if it isn't as good as I hope?

What Has Actually Helped

I don't have a perfect solution. But I have found two things that consistently cut through the noise.

Walk and talks, and zoom calls, with my writer friends. There's something about having other people on this journey with me that makes me feel accountable to them. They’ve invested their time in getting to know me, helping me through creative blocks, and offering advice. Time is our most valuable resource, and when it’s shared with me, I don’t take it lightly. I’ve also witnessed my author friends query agents, receive full manuscript requests (and rejections), and I want to be there for them in a meaningful way as someone who understands—who is also going through it—just like they’ve done for me. That’s the next step in the journey, but if I want to get to that point, I have to finish the damn manuscript.

Early morning sprints with my 5 a.m. Writers Club. This group of fellow early-rising authors came to me through a Historical Novel Society connection, my friend Susan. There is something special about having accomplished a day’s worth of work before the rest of the world wakes up, in knowing other writers are doing the same thing at the same hour. Something about that shared commitment makes the desk feel less lonely and the outline feel less daunting.

Community, it turns out, is a better productivity tool than any notebook or journal I've purchased.

The Part Where I Hold Myself Accountable

So here's where I land, and I'm saying it out loud because—as you know—that tends to help me:

The outline is the priority. Not the desk, not the notebook, not the research, not the social media. The outline.

I know how to do this. I have the tools. I have the community. I have a first page that agents listened to all the way through. I have a story worth telling.

Now I just have to tell it.

I’m not lazy. I’m not failing. I’m just standing at the edge of the pond, and it’s scary to jump. But as Robin Wall Kimmerer said in Braiding Sweetgrass (the book I’m reading right now), “Transformation is not accomplished by tentative wading at the water’s edge.”

With that… another blog is written. Another productive procrastination item is crossed off the to-do list. It’s time to go work on my outline.