I’m a procrastinator.

During my university years studying landscape architecture, I was the one in the studio for seventy-two hours straight, sleep deprived, my mind warped into a new reality, working to complete the project I’d had four weeks to complete.

In my adult life I worked in offices. The strict confines of nine-to-five helped in mediating my delaying tactics—I couldn’t watch a movie, or read a book, or whip up scrambled eggs while at my desk, so I got my work in on time. I found structure was needed in my life; it gave me balance and evened out the anxiety us dilly-dalliers experience every second of every waking hour.

My life and work changed abruptly after Damien’s release from prison. No longer was I working for a firm; I was flung into being a movie producer, a public speaker, a writer, and an artist.

While I relished in the freedom and joy of creativity, I was back to a structureless existence.

Projects now hung in the ether waiting for me to address them, like silent wallflowers hoping for the chance to dance.

Anxiety became a familiar shroud as I would begin every day with: “Today I’ll start writing that book” or “Today I’ll begin the drawings for that art show.”

The days filed by, one after another, as I whittled time away like an old man with a pocketknife and a stick.

The Quakers have a saying, “Pray, and move your feet.” It is important to match your thoughts and words with actions if you are to see change in your life.

Talking with a friend of mine who has a similar affliction, she offered a solution, an app that times your activities. You sit down, start the timer, and work for twenty-five minutes. After that amount of time, a small chime sounds and you take a five-minute break. This break can’t be checking emails or looking at social media; you must get up and do something.

I was desperate. Having gotten the app, I sat down with my laptop, typed in the task I was about to dive into—“BOOK”—and set to work.

I nearly jumped when the chime snapped me out of my concentration. I got up, did some jumping jacks, made a tea, played with the cats, and the chime called me back.

My friend calls it the “Benevolent Taskmaster.” If you don’t have an app, use a common kitchen timer or the alarm on your phone.

People often speak of writers as being ritualistic. I couldn’t claim that attribute before, but now not only is lassoing time in small batches a Godsend, it has become one of my favorite daily rituals.