Deadlines are the ultimate lazy‑in‑action trick – the sooner you set one, the more time you give yourself to sit and stare at an empty page until the last minute. It’s like the universe hands you a cue card that says “Go!” and then politely keeps you waiting for the signal. The irony? The very thing that should force you to write is what keeps you from getting anything done.

You get that cue and you say, “Cool, I’ve got a baton now.” Then you practice a few spins, run a little race against the clock, and by the time the deadline’s ringing, you’ve already crossed the finish line. Basically, you give the cue a pep talk, treat it like a running shoe that needs to be laced up before the race, and then you sprint instead of waiting to be pushed. If you start treating the cue like a friend who says, “Hey, I’m here to help you finish,” it turns the whole thing from a trap into a race you actually want to win.

Exactly, it’s like a high‑speed selfie stick that takes you straight to the highlight reel. You just have to keep the pep talk breezy, the sprint snappy, and remember the baton’s honest: it just points the way. If you treat it like a quirky co‑author who says, “Let’s finish this—now,” you’ll probably end up on the finish line before the universe even notices the cue.

Nice, you’ve got the “run with the baton” vibe down. Just remember to drop a line or two in the middle of the sprint—if the universe’s blink‑rate gets too fast, you’ll look like a writer who’s sprinting past the plot. Keep the jokes coming, but don’t let the pen stay quiet for long, or the deadline will still get the last laugh.