I have been digging this latest book out of my brain with a fork. A shrimp fork. And the tines are bent. That’s how it feels.

I sat down this weekend numerous times and my brain said, “Nuh-uh.” And I wrote anyway. It sucked. It came out painfully, slowly, boooooringly. But I kept on plugging, dammit.

This is how books get written. I just have to stop listening to that horrible little voice that tells me this is how really bad books get written.

First drafts are crap. They’re meant to be crap. Crap helps things grow.

So write the crap. Tell that voice to shut the f— up and just keep pulling that story out with any pronged implement you can find. I am a writer. I may not always be a good writer, but I’m a writer. Not a girl who thinks about writing, or a girl who plans to eventually write.

Or a girl who won’t write unless it comes easy.