I was just thinking in the shower (it’s no secret it’s my favourite place to think), and I realised there is one step more to my writing procrastination problem that I need to deal with: impatience.

My mother (among many others, no doubt) can well attest to the fact that I have something of an impatient personality. She often tells the story that when I was a child and I came to her and said I wanted to learn how to do something (for example, sew, cook, do something on the computer) she soon discovered that her life was much easier if she instructed me immediately. Then I’d happily amuse myself (hopefully for a while – if not, sorry Mum!). If she didn’t, I’d nag incessantly. Once I wanted to know something, I wanted to know it right then.

I just realised that this impatient streak hits my writing too. It explains absolutely perfectly why the second half of my draft novel (the first one, set in Japan) is nowhere near as good as the first half – in my opinion and according to feedback. I just wanted it to be finished, so in the last half I took less care and used the “near enough is good enough” philosophy a bit too often. That, combined with the fact that I was writing it to a deadline – the best way to overcome my procrastination – led to a flawed product.

My big hope is that just the process of having realised this will help solve the problem. As I said, this weekend I’m planning to get back to some rewriting of said “impatiently finished” novel, so we’ll see if I can do it patiently. If nothing else, I’m going to start the fixing-up process with the second half of the manuscript, the neglected-by-my-impatience half, so at least the attention each bit’s been given might balance out a bit.

Anyone out there recognise the combination of procrastination and impatience, or is it just me?

I discovered a great fiction-writing blog called Drops of Blood recently and this week Carolyn started a series which is right down my alley … she’s taking note of the various excuses she provides herself when she doesn’t work on her fiction writing, and then trying to find ways to avoid having that excuse rear its ugly head again.

Her first Why I Didn’t Write excuse is a very simple one – she slept too late. (Mental note to self: I haven’t actually used this excuse with myself yet! But I’m a morning person, so I tend to have a book-end excuse at the other end of the day – it’s too late for me to think creatively). Sleeping too late is relatively easily fixed, but it all replies on a bit of self-discipline. That’s not so easy, I know.

Anyway, Carolyn inspired me to think about the various excuses I give myself for not working on my fiction writing, and I decided I’d just make a long list now and then ban myself from using these excuses ever again. Sounds (much too) simple but you never know. My brain has been tricked by less.

• I have to finish the writing I get paid for first
• I’m too tired
• I feel like watching TV or a DVD (rarely, but it does happen)
• I can do it tomorrow … there’s no deadline
• I’ll just read a chapter (or three) of that book and then I’ll feel more inspired
• I’m hungry and/or thirsty
• The cats are bugging me to play with them instead of sitting here typing (it’s true, they can be really annoying, one likes to put her sharp little claws into my behind!)
• I have to do the washing/unload the dishwasher/vacuum (who would’ve thought I’d ever rather do those things?)

The totally irritating thing is I don’t think I’ve ever actually experienced writers’ block – I’ve never sat there and not known what to write. It’s just that I don’t always get myself to the sitting there stage. So now I formally announce that I will never use any of the above excuses again.

A post this week at the Writer’s Technology Companion tipped me off about a page at that often-lovely newspaper, the UK Guardian, featuring a collection of writers’ rooms. There are links to some 50 or more photographs and anecdotes about where a bunch of successful writers actually write. I’ve seen quite a few stories like this going around lately – it seems to be an in vogue obsession – but I have to admit that it does make me very curious. Despite my champion procrastinating skills I didn’t click on every single link, but I picked a few authors who interest me and checked out their rooms.

The most satisfying discovery was that most of them have fairly messy desks. That puts me in excellent company. A notable exception was my favourite philosopher, Alain de Botton, who has a relatively neat-looking study (although there are piles of books on the floor, which I’d like my husband to please take note of). But when I read the story I discovered that de Botton actually rents this room off a neighbour after his original study had to be converted into a child’s bedroom, and in fact he dislikes this new room.

Ian Rankin’s desk is a bit clearer than mine is at the moment, but the room is still relatively messy. Go mess! I’m sure mess is necessary for creativity. The study of Hanif Kureishi, my favourite writer from the whole Guardian list, is something like how I’d love my study to look, one day. The floor to ceiling bookcases are something I’ve already started working on (although I still have a fair few books in boxes, and more accumulate every day). It’s neat, but chaotic, in a creative way. The only distressing thing I read there is that Kureishi writes his drafts by hand. You know, with a pen and paper. And then he types them up. His theory is that computers encourage books which are too long. Maybe true but I will continue to type everything I write – I couldn’t stand the time-wasting feeling I’d get if I had to type up a story from handwritten notes.

As for my study, it’s currently a little on the messy side, especially my desk. I just brought in a glass of wine for my evening writing session and had to move an empty tea cup to find a space for it. I’ve had a sudden influx of books for review arrive, and I don’t have a particular bookshelf for them, so they are arranged around my desk depending on whether I’ve read them yet and then subdivided into whether I’ve reviewed them yet or not. Add to that a few library books, the two notebooks I’ve deemed essential desk material because they’re related to my new novel, an overflowing in-tray (containing two or three more books to review) and small scraps of paper that my cats have torn up, and it’s far from perfect. The rest of the room is still half empty, but one side has nearly a dozen boxes that need unpacking from our move nearly a year ago. But after seeing the rooms of these successful writers, I don’t feel quite so bad at all. Unfortunately my neat husband might not see it quite the same way.