On Writing.

Sometimes there’s a night when you have post-concussion syndrome, your agent won’t call you back, two stories have been rejected, one story vanished from your desktop, you tweaked your shoulder doing pull-ups, you wrote a crappy poem, your head hurts, you’re really tired, you coached your older daughter’s soccer team to a loss, your doctor said to do NOTHING all week, you’re not allowed to drink beer, it’s too late to drink coffee, your younger daughter has an earache, and you can’t fall asleep.

Some nights are like that. So I set my alarm to get up early, drink coffee, and start writing again. Isn’t there something about madness and repetition?


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