It occurred to me, as I was grabbing an hour from my writing to work in my garden, that this is what it's like when you're writing before you're published, or if you're writing as a second (or third or fourth) job, only in reverse.
Instead of trying to snag some time away from my "primary function" to write, I was trying to snag some time to do something other than write.
All I was doing was moving perennials. I still haven't planted anything new; that will have to wait until next week, when the book is done, along with cleaning out the garage, cleaning windows, and all sorts of other spring chores that, if I weren't writing, would be on the front burner instead of the back.
Speaking of writing, I tossed out two scenes yesterday. At this stage, and when the ms. is already a little short, that's painful, but the story seemed to come to a dead halt, so...out they went.