Work in progress

I started writing and the world moved on with its life. 

This is me procrastinating. 

This is me taking a break after I've written the opening and closing sketches (I guess I'm supposed to call them Incidents) to the book I'm writing. This is me pretending that I'm actually writing a book. This is me being one of those losers who tells other people about the alleged books they're writing. As if anyone cares.

This is me sitting in front of my iPad with a keyboard and a $10 Pages app and my Utah headphones listening to my Explosions in the Sky Spotify channel. Trying to be real. Trying to be honest. Trying to do everything it was so easy for me to tell my students to do.

The hardest part of writing is sitting down to write.

My brother in law is an artist. I went to his house today and saw his painting room. Pictures and drawings and sketches and notes everywhere. He is a professional. He inspires me and intimidates me at the same time. If only we had the same blood. If only I could write standing up next to an easel instead of sitting down on my couch.