I assume even monkeys who can type throw feces at their work because they are monkeys, and one doesn’t escape one’s nature just because we’re working QWERTY.
I assume even monkeys who can type throw feces at their work because they are monkeys, and one doesn’t escape one’s nature just because we’re working QWERTY.
I’m not sure I’m good enough to write this story, but I am good enough to try.
See that stack of notecards? That’s the book. Also in this picture are earplugs, my crappy reading glasses that give me a headache, a referral card for an endodontist, some magic elixir, a corrector pen, a mood ring, and my lucky fake succulent, among other junk. I think that’s about right.

This week as I finalized and outline and uttered every curse word I know while maneuvering through the heavenly hellscape that is Scrivener, I alternated between panic, despair, and occasional breaks-in-the-cloud rays of optimism.
My goals are: (more…)
I better understand how it can take a lifetime to write a book, especially how getting stuck or fearful can lead to online moodling and learning what your rap name is (“Young” plus the last thing you purchased.)