It’s been firmly established that I suck at self imposed deadlines. I graduated from the CUNY Writers’ Institute in May, and since then, I have done absolutely nothing relating to my writing. And I’m not exaggerating, even if you count the time I went to a coffee shop, with the intention of revising my chapter. But as soon as I ordered a chocolate croissant warmed up, it all went to hell. To hell, I say. I’d like to think that the Writers’ Institute has instilled me with some sort of work ethic, but unfortunately it has not. If there is no threat of humiliation from other students and fancy pant editors, nothing gets done. Some of my classmates from the Writers’ Institute, who are…
