- I can only write when I have at least four hours of uninterrupted time. I only have three hours and forty-two minutes so I’ll just Twitter instead.
- The kids need to be fed. Okay, not right now, but eventually… and that takes a lot of forethought. I mean, do you even have kids? So what would you know about it anyway!?
- My laptop keyboard is too sprongy. I can’t write on a sprongy keyboard. I need a new laptop before I can write another word.
- I don’t have any ideas left. A Franciscan monk/ninja snuck into my bedroom last night and stole them from me because he’s tired of the monastic/ninja lifestyle and wants to be a famous (though still somewhat reclusive) author whose novels are so well-loved he gets invited to appear on Letterman where he’s asked to read a couple pages (just like David Sedaris does with his creative non-fiction) and before his segment - while he’s still in the green room - he meets Juliette Binoche and they hit it off and eventually run away to live in Sweden where they form a death metal band that becomes (in)famous for writing and performing terribly long and boring songs based on his bestselling books. Okay, fine. I guess he didn’t take every idea. I suppose I could write a novel about a monk/ninja/novelist… damn. Now I only have three hours of uninterrupted time.
- My muse left me for another writer.
- Someone just published a book using the title I wanted for my novel. Now I feel empty inside.
See you soon. If the apocalypse doesn’t come first. Ooh… wait, that reminds me. Bonus excuse #8: I can’t write because the apocalypse could come any time and so what’s the point, really?