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The page is a cliff. You approach it with trepidation, wary of the fall, uncertain of the distance or the landing. The solid ground of not-writing below your feet, and the sheer drop, a wave of cold air, then… nothing. How can it be a daily practice, this throwing yourself off a cliff? No wonder

“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.” Such a modest, yet all-out ambition. You don’t need a bigger light, someone else’s light, a best-selling light, a more commercial light, a light that will let you quit your job, a light that outshines someone else’s light or the streetlight or the moon. You

Listen! Listen to the small sounds of the early quiet: dog lapping at the water, heater rising to greet the turning of the seasons, refrigerator’s low hum. Listen again, deeper, listen into the beat and pause of the words within you. The rhythm coming through your hand, pen to page, offers a particular pulse. But

For setting yourself racing against time, against the speed of your thoughts tumbling through, pouring in granular, perpetual motion. Go.  Q is for Quixotic, for following dreams and scooping up whims, guesses, ideals, possibilities. Harnessing your attention to the wild-dog-pulled sleigh of your imagination. Go.  Q is for Quilt, for piecing together disparate scraps into

What psychedelics do according to my rudimentary layperson’s understanding of the science based on reading part of one book (consider this a disclaimer!), is suppress the control of a central part of the brain that both coordinates input from various sensory-gathering parts of the brain and also regulates the traffic of that input, preventing collisions and

The page is the answer to all your questions, from “what happens next?” to “should I keep trying?” The page answers yes and better than yes. The page produces story, scene, character, wisdom, humor, the small scratch of life and the wide, convex horizon. The page brings out the writer. Don’t want for inspiration or