The thing is, it's 3:30 in the morning, and I've been staring at this computer for about sixteen hours now. The thing is, your options begin to become limited at 3:30 in the morning. The thing is, out of those sixteen hours, Iíve had this blank screen lurking for three of them. Iím not insane enough to just stare at it, hoping, but it has been there, behind other windows, behind screens and screens of internet entertainment and re-touched photos and folders filled with folders.
So what do you do? Do you stick it out, hoping for something amazing, and decide that your tomorrow is doomed? Do you knock back a shot of hard liquor, a little amber glass of inspiration? Push on, hoping that if you tap your keyboard long enough, the words will start to fall out?
Or do you let the white screen win? Do you hit the tiny ďxĒ in the corner, turn off the kitchen light, and crawl between the sheets that are the perfect temperature because your wife went to bed hours ago like a sane person?
The thing is, you donít get to be called a writer if you donít write.
The thing is, anyone can sleep.
The thing is, there are stories to be told.