I don’t think I’m a cold or callous person, but I have to admit that sometimes, I feel less alone when I hear about the big fat mess that exists in other people’s lives (and minds). I don’t want anyone to suffer, but it’s a part of life, and it’s sometimes helpful to be reminded of it.
In case you’re like that, I thought I’d share the story of my really shitty day yesterday. Feel free to be all smug and think to yourself, “Well, at least I’m not that bad!”
So I did this crazy thing. I wrote a book. It took me a month.
No, seriously. One day I was heading to the mountains to go snowboarding with my son; he was sleeping, and I didn’t want to play the radio. I had the kernel of an idea for a book tickling my brain, so what I did with the silence in the car was to begin writing it in my head. I wrote three chapters on the drive to the mountains; on the way home, I told it to myself, as though it was a story I had once heard. When I sat down to write it out the next day, the whole thing was still there, complete.
And the story kept pouring out of me, every day for a month. I told my friend De Anna that the writing was so easy that it couldn’t possibly be any good, but she said I was Continue reading