What time is it?

It’s time to be happy about President Obama’s second term.

It’s time to carve out space to do this thing that I love. It is time to write.

It is time to figure out what I need to do to write just a little bit more than I am writing now (which is easy because I am writing nothing).

It’s time to work more effectively so that I have time to write.

It’s time to shut the office door.

It’s time to make a promise to a reader, and swear that this time, I mean it, I’m going to send it to you by November 15.

No joke.

I don’t have time to worry about rejection, publication, markets, or competition. Nope.

It’s time to work, time to go to the places that scare me.

It’s time to lower my head, not in despair nor in prayer, because I’m not a religious son-of-a-bitch, nor am I a son, not even because of my egregious use of commas, but rather to write.

It’s time to Finish the Fucker.

 

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5 responses to “What time is it?

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