I didn’t sleep well last night. I think I’m coming down with a cold. But I’m up early because I made a vow, and the Muse expects me to keep it. It doesn’t matter that millions of other writers around the world are prostrating themselves to her right now in Mandarin and Spanish and Hindi and Arabic and Portuguese and Bengali and Russian and Punjabi and German and Japanese and Javanese. The Muse still expects a few words from me this morning. In English, she says. In writing.
Why it matters to me that I write every morning: 1. Because writing is hard, but not as hard as not writing. 2. Because a good sentence can rise from the ashes of a bad sentence, and someone needs to write those bad sentences, and who can write bad sentences better than me? 3. Because when I sit down to write, a door inside me opens. I may just stare at it, unable or unwilling to take a step toward it; still, a door opens. 4. Because sometimes I walk through the door.
