The Trouble is, You Think You Have Time

I keep forgetting that in order to be a novelist you need to write a novel. Or that to become a marathon runner I need to get my ass on a treadmill. Time deceives us. It seems infinite. It's not.

One of the most tragic things I've ever read was an essay from an exceptional graduate of a school back east. She waxed poetic about how she and her classmates were so young and had "so much time." She repeated the sentence for emphasis, which didn't persuade her boyfriend's car not to veer off the road a few weeks later and kill her. Sometimes the universe is unfair.

Reality is a cruel thief of plans, so there's simply no time to wait. I spend all day writing a line for a book here, a perfect metaphor there, and I'll put it down on paper. Later.

Later is too late. So I'm starting chapter 1 tonight with a glass of wine. It might be shit, but at least it'll be on paper.

Maybe this blog can be about me writing my first novel?

If you're having a bad day, here's a picture of Eminem making nachos.

It's funny for some reason, and you know it. Hopefully this blog won't be all about rappers using condiments, because a) I will run out of content after, well, probably this post and b) that would just be a terrible blog. However, writer's block is a real thing, y'all, so this is all I got for now.