When I woke up this morning, I did not want to write.  I was being lazy.  There was Resistance coming at me from all directions.  I was tired from playing too much Zelda the night before.   I didn’t want to get out of bed, but I stuck to it as it were my job.  If I want this to be my job, I need to make it a career.  

I dragged my ass out of bed.  Tuned the world out.  Left the phone far away to keep the distractions far far away.  

When I sat down, I had absolutely no idea what I was going to write.  I knew where I was in the book.  I knew the characters I needed to play with.  I just didn’t know what to do.  I had literally written them into a box and needed to figure out how to get them out.  

Just do the work.  I kept telling myself over and over.  I wrote 1,000 words and then the inspiration hit.   When in doubt, just add machine guns.   Then I hit cruising mode.  I plugged away at another hour until the muse fluttered away.   

Do the work.  Close the door.  That shit just comes from nowhere.   I love the work.  I fucking love the process.  I fucking love the work.

I got this, bitch.