We procrastinate for many reasons. We’re afraid, we’re filled with uncertainty, our inner censor is whispering in our ear that whatever we’re working on is no good. We procrastinate because the work is hard. There are no guarantees. It may not amount to much. Likely, it will never match up to the perfect vision for it that we hold in our minds. We know from experience that much of what we’re setting down on the page will eventually need to be revised, re-written, so why even make a stab at it? We procrastinate because we’re afraid of finishing the thing, at which point we’ll have to contend with sending it out into the world and deal with other problems, like rejection, exposure, indifference, bad reviews. We procrastinate because, before we write, it’s all infinite possibility, but once we’ve actually written, we are harnessed, prisoners of our own limitations, our meager gifts.