Why am I not writing?? It makes no sense. I want to, and yet when I have the time, I keep finding distractions. I don’t think it’s a matter of having distractions; I believe I could find things to do if I lived in a cardboard box. I am a master at distraction creation.
For some reason a part of me doesn’t want to start. Scared? Maybe.
I think I’m going to go set a short goal for myself. I’m going to write a short story by hand this week. It has to be in rough draft by Sunday evening at the latest. I can do it.

