…as happened yesterday, and I write very little, my only goal for the day after is:
Today I will write more than I did yesterday.
Which is easy. Because yesterday's production was pathetically low.
It's like my emotional distress leaves behind a small, plastic party favor, like a crappy whistle or a puke-colored crazy straw, just something it picked up at the dollar store for no reason it can remember other than the thing only cost a buck.
See? my emotional distress seems to be saying as it drops the favor on the nightstand.
Don't say I never gave you anything.
If I had any self-respect … Which is funny.
So I grab my whistle and use it to shriek out my frustration. Or I would if the damn thing worked. All I get is a spitting, sputtering hiss.
Disgusted, I get back to work.
And I write more today than I did yesterday.
-David
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Published on May 04, 2011 10:10