Consume, consume, consume.

Some days it feels like that’s all I do. Sit back and let the television wash over me, bathing in the subliminal messages.

Reading is a little more active, and so many people do say that a writer is always first a reader, but it’s still primarily a consumer activity.

Hush darling, just keep going.

It’s not that I don’t have the energy to create, I do. It’s just that I am that easily distracted. Ten twenty four characters daily, four times daily, sixteen sixty six words daily, nothing. My target changes every day.

“What do you think?” I said. “Is it too obtuse? Some people say it’s jargony and hard to read.”

Revise, keep going. Try again. The voice in my head. At least it’s saying encouraging things.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you,” Mr VanMeer said. A curl of smoke twisted from his pipe as he set it down next to a crystal ashtray. “It’s not that it isn’t good, it’s just not what we’re looking for here.”

“Thank you for your time.” I started to head for the door.


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