I have ADHD, so there always seem to be things on my to-do list that never get checked off.
Some of them are small, daily things—taking my vitamins, organizing a drawer that’s been “temporary” for three years, putting something away instead of setting it down “just for a minute.” Those are easy to forgive myself for. Tomorrow is always there, waiting.
But then there are the bigger items. The ones that carry weight. The ones that whisper at you every time you sit down and wonder what you should be doing instead of what you are doing.
For years—literal years—I said I was going to write a book.
I talked about it. I thought about it. I outlined it endlessly in my head—while driving, while showering, while lying awake at night. And then I did nothing. The idea stayed safely theoretical, which meant it couldn’t fail.
Until the summer before last.
For reasons I still can’t fully explain, I finally sat down and started writing. Not tinkering. Not dabbling. Writing. Day after day. Page after page. By mid-September, I typed the final chapter of my first novel, just before a long-awaited family reunion. That date became my immovable, non-negotiable deadline.
I printed out the manuscript, carried it with me, and handed it to my dad. He passed away in December 2024, and I don’t think he ever got the chance to read it. But I’m grateful—deeply grateful—that I was able to show it to him. That he knew I’d finally done the thing I’d been talking about for so long.
That was a to-do item that did get done.
So what’s the one that never seems to get checked now?
Editing the book.
It’s sitting there, waiting. Patient. Unoffended. Quietly judging me. I know it matters. I know it deserves the same focus and discipline that got the first draft finished. And I know I’ll get to it…eventually.
Ask me how the editing is going.
(But maybe don’t ask today.)
Copyright © 2026 Doug DeBolt.
