Someone asked me the other day what it is I actually do with my time. And I wanted to tell them that I write, but that seemed so easy, and so untrue, because there is a whole lot more living than writing happening. There is a vast amount of watching and taking notes and making sense of how people hold conversations. There is a lot of studying everything from miscarriages to communism and the art of stripping. And there are many hours of weird writing exercises that fill the days and often times amount to… not nothing, but something other than nothing, like a new nothing. It’s a little like this…

Make believe for seven minutes that you are anyone besides you. What does this person want? What does this person fear? Who does this person love and why? What do they miss more than anything in the whole entire world. Where has this person gone wrong in their life? What advice would you give them? Now pretend that this person is sitting next to you, the real you, and I want you to have a conversation with them. Write down everything they surprisingly say to you. Ask about their childhood, ask about their most recent doctors visit, ask about their first broken heart. Meet your newest character, light some candles, and write.


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