My mother gave me some advice a number of years back. Like… back when I was the age of the heart-wrenching children I like to put in my stories. Seven or eight, perhaps.
Regardless, I had to make bread. (Yes, we’ve made our own homemade bread for as long as I can remember. Long enough we don’t appreciate it like everyone else seems to. Or maybe we all just have picky tastes.)
But I didn’t want to make bread. Like really, really didn’t want to. Procrastination comes young, trust me.