Slow

Ok, book monthers, here is the deal.

I'm not ready to write a book right now.

Wait, let me explain.

My mother has two stories she ever tells about me, and they are as follows: 1. is a poem I wrote for her in high school (not a story, I guess, but she reads it to strangers at an embarrassing frequency); 2. is something about when I was five and shy and all the other kids were playing on the playground, but I wouldn't go play with them until I felt good and ready.

She claims this behavior is indicative of a bigger personality trend that embraces Mr. Roger's mantra: "I like to take my time I mean I mean that when I want to do a thing I like to take my time to do it right!

I mean I might just make mistakes
If I should have to hurry up and
So I like to take my time
To tie my shoes, to eat, to get dressed,
To go to sleep at night to sing a song for you
And every thing I do."

I used to critize myself ruthlessly for "dragging my feet" about things (why I taught a third year when all my friends were moving on to other things, why I'm not in grad school yet, why it's taken 27+ years to nourish a lasting relationship, why I haven't moved out of Houston).

'Cause, dudes, I am taking my time. Whether it's writing a book or furthering my college education, I will do it when I'm good. and. ready.

I'm not ready to write a book right now, but I might be later. Oh man, it's gonna be a best-seller.

BOOK MONTH SAYS SELF SCRUTINY IS STOOOOOOOOOOOOOPID.

I hope you keep going, if it's something you want to do. I got about 2,000 words out, and maybe 20 of those are quality. It's a good start.