A coach doesn’t tell you what you should do, he tells you what you will do.

That’s the huge difference between being instructed and being coached. I’ve had instructors out the ying-yang, and wise people from throughout human history telling me what is right to do. In fact I’ve had so much of that in my lifetime that I know exactly what is right to do. Not to mention my conscience already knew all along.

But still I won’t do it, at least as well as I should. Part laziness, part fear, part something I don’t know why, but heck if I can get myself to do what I should be doing, unless I have to. I can do stuff that I have to do, but what’s the use of that, except to just stay alive?

That’s where coaches come in. If you don’t do what they want, they make you do laps, which are like Hell, except they eventually stop, when Coach decides.

I’m sending my mouse tale to Coach Doug today for butchering. Sweet. We’ve taken the last couple months off, because of NaNoWriMo and the December holidays. Now I’m depending on my coach to make me do some stuff I hate to do, like query letters and pretending I admire myself on paper, not just implying it by being snide or something. My new job is to make the professionals like an amateur. Coach me up, Coach.

The soon-to-be new and improved,

LWIII