I'm taking some time off to make some in roads into this bloody novel. So, I'm asking AI to write me some posts for the week.
This is what I fed into the search engine.
"Please write me a 300-word blog post in the style of Pandora Queen of Denial about procrastinating about starting a first chapter."
The First Chapter: A Masterclass in Avoidance
So, here I am, perched at my desk, fingers poised over the keyboard, ready to dive into the first chapter of my novel. The cursor blinks expectantly, a silent metronome ticking away the seconds of my inaction. I take a deep breath, summon my inner Hemingway, and... decide that the spice rack needs reorganizing. Immediately.
I mean, how can one possibly write when the paprika is fraternizing with the cinnamon? It's chaos in there.
Once the spices are alphabetized (and color-coded, naturally), I return to my desk. The blank page stares back at me, unyielding. Perhaps a cup of tea will help. Yes, tea. And maybe a biscuit. Or two. Can't write on an empty stomach, after all.
Tea in hand, I sit down once more. The cursor continues its relentless blinking. I type a sentence. Delete it. Type another. Delete that too. Maybe I need some inspiration. I scroll through social media, read a few articles, watch a video about the mating habits of penguins. Fascinating creatures, penguins.
Hours pass. The sun sets. The page remains blank.
But tomorrow is a new day. A fresh start. I'll wake up early, go for a walk, clear my mind, and then, finally, write that elusive first chapter.
Unless, of course, the sock drawer needs reorganizing.
I like that it's picked up on my short sentences and conversational style.
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