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