15 Minutes


I've been a bad boy, and not in the whip and leather chaps kind of way. I've neglected my responsibilities as a writer, which is, of course, to write. Every fucking day, regardless of how I'm feeling. Oh sure, I've been steadily working on my manuscript, and by the end of next week, I should have the first draft finished (followed by a year of editing ... hooray?), but there's a rhythm to writing that can't be overlooked. It should be a daily practice, not a casual hookup. Writing should be tantric.

And so, today I embark on the first steps of a journey, much like Frodo set out into the wheat fields beyond the Shire, backpack cinched tight and metal pot clattering against his hips, as Samwise longingly chased after. I, too, am headed for the unknown, but my journey is one of letters, not fiery mountains and fish-eating monkey-men (one can hope).

When I was in college, I had a screenwriting professor named Sandeep who forced us to write 15 minutes at the start of every class. No talking, no pauses. Just sit down, shut up, and write. It was laborious at first, my notebooks filling with semi-egotistical drivel extracted from my body like an enema, but eventually, it became fluid (also like an enema), transforming the writing process into something enjoyable.

So there you go, that's my 15 minutes for the morning.