is none. No lists. No promises. No desperate effort to seize control.How many lists have you thrown out? How many times have you vowed and been forsworn? How many times have you cleared time to write and found yourself suddenly needing to find your aunt’s recipe for holiday cookies; what someone had posted in response to the poem you put on Zuckerberg’s Evil Empire; the matchbook with the phone number of the irresistible possibility you met somewhere? How often have you felt relief when the timer went off and you could tell yourself you’d put in your writing time.
1/1/2017 is not a magic number. Start now. Here’s your prompt. You know what to do. Soon, we don’t know when, writing one’s truth will be a crime punishable by death. I have to tell this story…
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