The Art of Procrastination (or: I'm a goof and I'm sorry for the delay)

Happy Thursday everyone! You may be looking at the title and thinking that I'm about to wax poetic about the brutal masochism of putting off work you know needed to be done, like, yesterday, but that's not what I'm going to do. Fellow procrastinators already know this game and Type-A personalities who get their shit done will probably (and rightfully) not quite understand the amount of self-sabotage and mental gymnastics it requires to procrastinate the way I do.

No, this is a formal announcement that that first chapter of "Get Fanged" will only be coming out tomorrow (June 30) instead of today. Why? There are many reasons, none of them good, so I'm just going to leave it at "I procrastinated by working on my essay and reading gay webtoons" and leave it at that.

With this formal announcement is a formal apology. I lost track of time and conveniently forgot how anal I am about perfecting the work I want to publish. I also recognize that those are still not good excuses. Deeply sorry about keeping you waiting. As reconciliation, I've shared a preview of my work below this announce-pology, so feel free to have a look at that.

But what is that about, anyway? Being a procrastinating perfectionist. I never thought it was a vice I possessed until I started writing for money and I realized that deadlines are kinda scary, actually, so I try not to think of them by procrastinating. Only, I don't do a good job because I am literally freaking out as I avoid my work. And then, when the time comes to hand in my work, I'm either not ready (like now) or I hastily rush through my work while obsessing over the fact that it's not good enough and it never will be. That's that masochistic shit.

I think that's another reason I started this blog, you know? To just confront those anxieties head-on and put my work out there, whether it's "ready" (which, again, it never will be) or not. I'll do what I can to put my best foot forward, but if that means working on it until climate change claims us, then I'd rather put what I've got out there.

THAT being said, the chapter will come out tomorrow and that's a promise. I'm really excited to share Consuela and Amber with you all because these characters and their interactions were a lot of fun to write.

You know, I said "Get Fanged" was very Killing Eve-esque, but I'd say it's pretty Gideon the Ninth coded too. The reason is because I wrote "Get Fanged" as I was reading GtN, so naturally a lot of the banter is based on Gideon and Harrow's frequent (but hilarious) bickering. If you haven't read Gideon the Ninth, I highly recommend it! It's great sapphic science-fantasy (more fantasy than science, I suppose...but there's interplanetary travel, so that's sciency, right?)

Anyway, the chapter coming out tomorrow is kind of good, actually, because tomorrow is the last day of Pride Month! Which means the end of brands pretending to be queer-friendly, so that's nice. Rainbow capitalism is truly a blight upon society (though, it's either this or overt persecution, so... take what you can get and all that).

Ramble over! Keep an eye out for the story tomorrow. For fun, I'll just leave a preview of the first chapter here so you get an idea of what's to come. Enjoy!

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“You know I’ve got a sister waiting for me at home?”

Consuela, already dressed for bed in a torn Escuela Grind t-shirt and boxer briefs, lies back on her bed like a satisfied cat having returned from the hunt. The guitar is propped on her lap and lovingly held. It’s like Consuela is lulling it into a false sense of security, all the while knowing full well that she will smash it onstage within the next twelve hours.

“What now?”

“My sister,” said Amber. “I call her everyday. If I miss a call, she will notice.”

“Okay,” says Consuela, blank. “Then I’ll just have to eat her too.”

Silence.

“Just kidding,” Consuela says with a toothy smile. “Man, will you lighten up? I’m not going to eat you yet.”

Amber is very tempted to ask “what do you mean yet”, but stops herself in time. It has hardly been twelve hours and she is quickly learning that Consuela has a very inconvenient sort of dark humour that toes the line of being outright homicidal. This is especially annoying when it comes from an actual vampire who could drink all her blood the moment she sleeps.

“Just don’t try anything,” says Amber, lamely, because what else is there to say? “Wait until I’ve won several accolades for my journalistic rigour and integrity. Then you can eat me.”

🔲

P.S. Stream Escuela Grind, their music fuckin slaps.