Before Dark

What to write today?

Instead, I keep reading the newspaper, checking Instagram, the World Wide Web
like it's going to tell me the answer.
The answer to the deep, gaping hole in our country.
The hole staring back at me as I try to string words together,
daring me to care about anything else.

Who needs another book when the world feels like it’s on fire?

No one can really tell you how to write a book.
It's not like riding a bike.
Two feet on pedals and keep on going til' you get the hang of it.
The momentum will keep you up, sweetie.
But use your legs if you feel yourself tip on over.

Everyone has their way, their approach. I've finished one 12-week writing workshop, downloaded prompts, created a writing schedule, stared out the window, looked up for guidance, and sighed into my hands. Hemingway wrote 500 words a day, apparently, and he cranked out books I can't ever finish reading.
I, instead, write nonsense every morning and then create a to-do list of writings I never get to.

This blog is a bit of a babysitter for me, holding my fingers to the keyboards, begging me to write words like a kid munching unhappily on carrots.
Sometimes I squeak out a few lines that feel promising. A few lines don't make a book, though, and that's my biggest problem.
Unless. Hey. Does anyone out there want to read an unfinished thought of a book rather than not reading a finished thought of a book?

Any writing is better than no writing, right?
Better than reading the news, again.
Neither will keep the world from eating itself whole.

Maybe this is like riding a bike.
Two hands on a keyboard.
Type until you feel you got your balance. The faster you go, the easier it will feel.
Don’t stop until you get somewhere good.

And then, remember,
Be home before dark.