Everyday. Ten Minutes. No stopping. Unedited.
[Was going to try for 25 minutes but the attention span is too short].

I call myself a writer, but what am every day that passes that I do not write?

Just a thinker.

A conspirer.

The ideas never go away. They can’t leave because they haven’t been released. They swirl and swirl until they become a fog. They flash like lightning, begging to be noticed. Begging to be tamed and brought inside.

I know if I wrote every day I’d be just as happy as if I ran every day. It’s different kinds of endorphins. Or maybe it’s exactly the same. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.

Which makes it that much scarier to try. Because trying means failing. And what happens when you fail at the thing you love the most?

It’s a feeling I know too well.

Once you lose the thing most important to you and survive it almost feels like you can do anything.

And failing is succeeding but it never feels that way. It feels like stabs in the heart. But your heart never stops beating even when it takes a beating. It pumps and pumps more blood to the wounds. Blood that fills your ears and your head. Heartbeats that are too fast and send your body into panic…but they keep you alive. Even when that’s the last thing you want.

The critics are everywhere now. Everyone has a keyboard.

There was a story I tried to write several times. I thought it was my story to tell. But they took it and revised it down to the bones.

Almost every time someone’s had told me I had a bad idea it ended up being a good one.

And so many ideas that I thought were good were very bad.

My worst ideas were some of my favorite ones.

Writing is only good if you’re vulnerable. And being vulnerable is hardest, best thing in the world. So when you write you get to do the hardest and the best thing in the world. But also you have to.

I’ve written everywhere. On planes, in cars, in bed, in bathtubs, on park benches outside of theaters, and anywhere else you can eat green eggs and ham. Besides being the hardest thing to do it is the easiest thing to do. It’s as easy as breathing…for someone who has asthma.