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Today’s irrational belief that will keep you from finishing your novel:

I can’t write here. it is too loud, quiet, hot, cold, drafty, too many cats, that leaf blower makes me crazy, the traffic, the…I need an oak paneled office, a brandy snifter and a smoking jacket.

I like this one and used to employ every chance I could. I spend my life serving three hounds and two cats. I write before my day job. Wilbur the blind basset hound barks to go outside, he barks to come back inside and he barks to get up on the couch. Roxie the bloodhound moos at Riley, the basset-bloodhound mix and Riley threatens Wilbur’s life.

I often yell expletives during this period of the day.

I’ve also learned to write under these circumstances. How?

I’ve learned to realize that I can stand being uncomfortable. i don’t like it but I can stand it. Telling myself that I can’t possible write under less than ideal circumstances because they are uncomfortable is really bullshit.

It may not feel great but the word count goes up and the plot gets advanced. That’s what you want.

Okay? Got it?

Good.

Now, ass on chair, fingers on keyboard. Write!