Someday I Would Change My

Insomnia Is A Variant Of Tourette's--the Waking Brain Races, Sampling The World After The World Has Turned Away, Touching It Everywhere, Refusing To Settle, To Join The Collective Nod. The Insomniac Brain Is A Sort Of Conspiracy Theorist As Well, Believing Too Much In Its Own Paranoiac Importance--as Though If It Were To Blink, Then Doze, The World Might Be Overrun By Some Encroaching Calamity, Which Its Obsessive Musings Are Somehow Fending Off.

I Try To Write Every Day. I Don't Beat Myself Up About Word Counts, Or How Many Hours Are Ticking By On The Clock Before I'm Allowed To Go And Do Something Else. I Just Try To Keep A Hand In And Work Every Single Day, Even If There Are Other Demands Or I'm On A Book Tour Or Have The Flu Or Something, Because Then I Keep My Unconscious Engaged With The Book. Then I'm Always A Little Bit Writing, No Matter What Else I'm Doing.

Waves, Sky, Trees, Essrog - I Was Off The Page Now, Away From The Grammar Of Skyscrapers And Pavement.

Some People Have Things Written All Over Their Faces; The Big Guy Had A Couple Of Words Misspelled In Crayon On His.

Being Blocked, Being Uncertain, Sitting There Not Knowing, Waiting, Abiding With It: This Is The Work. If You Don't Have The Tolerance For That You're In Great Trouble. If You Want To Call It A Writer's Block... That Doesn't Seem A Very Useful Name For That Kind Of Abiding That I Think Is The Essence Of The Work.