For an OCD-tinted, anxiety-ridden, world class over-achiever such as myself I lack a remarkable amount of discipline.
I am forever busy as the proverbial bee. I am constantly buzzing, sticking my little bee parts into my writing, scooping out literary pollen here, depositing storied pollen there. It is literally exhausting. So, why can’t I pop out novels faster? Why can’t I churn out these books at the furious pace in which I write them?
Discipline, I assume.
Easy answer, right?
But how does one punish a bumble bee without squashing it? Somebody, please, tell me that.