Because my biological clock hates me, I am often the first person to wake up in my house. I’ve grudgingly come to accept this, but this acceptance doesn’t make me any more pleasant to be around. Continue reading “Death By 1,000 Cuts”
This is unusual for me. I haven’t been seriously blocked about anything writer-ish since the late 1990s. That was when I accepted a job as a newspaper reporter. On my first day of work, I was told that in order to avoid getting fired I needed to crank out six researched stories every week (“And that’s the minimum,” my cantankerous editor, Jack Carle, would grumble). Writer’s block was a luxury I could no longer afford.
As a consequence, I developed an ability to find stories even when a story was barely there. In other words, I learned how to pull a story outta my butt.