I'm a bit of a wuss when it comes to plunging into cold water. Whenever I have to get into an outdoor pool, I inch myself in agonisingly slowly, gasping and spluttering at the gradual discomfort, when of course I should be plunging in like any normal person.
You can probably see where this beautifully crafted metaphor is going.
While my writing partner is having a shufty at Care and Control, I'm taking the opportunity to revisit Foot Soldiers, a feature-length idea I started developing a few months ago.
However, despite having a fairly clear idea of where it should be going (I've got an 18-page 'roadmap' of what I want to achieve) and a strong visual sense of the opening scenes, I can't bring myself to start drafting it in case I'm not fully prepared.
I know we're all pretty much prone to procrastination, but this is getting ridiculous. This morning I thought I'd finally browse through that copy of Save the Cat I bought months ago and nip to Ryman for a new pen. After all, you can't write a new script without a new pen, can you?
But no more! As soon as I finish this post, I'm off into the waves like Reggie Perrin...
Edit: And yes - the irony of blogging about procrastination hasn't escaped me.