I was sitting on my parents’ deck this afternoon, drinking a diet coke and hanging out with my dog, and trying to work out some dialog for the end of a chapter. Woolgathering. My Mom appeared in the doorway and hollered at my Dad, in a great redneck drawl, “Pa! Do ya think maybe we raised us a lazy ‘un? He’s still sittin’ out yonder with that old hound dog.”

I thought that was a hoot. Mom, this one’s for you:

procrastination