It’s not the book I thought I would be writing. As an avid reader I always figured I had a few good novels of my own somewhere inside. All I really needed to do was take a little time to sit down and write them. Turns out, that is like thinking I have a tight pecs and a good six pack inside me and the only thing I need to do to let them out is just take a little time to exercise. Both of those strategies work about as well as you would expect. Working out is hard work. So is writing.So, instead I started a journal. Just a paragraph about what happened that day. The space available is purposefully limited. I have to make a conscious choice about what events to include and there is no room for pontification or commentary. The forces scarcity, however, has had an interesting effect. I am more willing to start writing because I know I don’t have to write very much. But then I am left wanting to write more and that spills over into other projects (this blog being one of them). By setting a very small, daily obligation for myself I reap a significantly outsized result.



