“When I turned 30 I had this epiphany that I was never going to be a writer, no matter how many black turtlenecks I wore, unless I wrote something.” – Kate DiCamillo
I read picture books. I read about picture books. I read about writing. I talk about writing. I have time. I have resources. I have a sense for the art form, some talent. Yet, I never seem to make. I am that obnoxious cloud that looks like rain and brings no rain.
What is the disconnect? I am feeling acutely today that if I am ever going write, now is the time. But, how do I do this?
It occurred to me that the one thing I’ve never tried, ever, is showing up routinely everyday – consistently, habitually, religiously. I’ve never practiced the discipline of sitting down to a dedicated daily block of time, doggedly trying day after day no matter what happens … like all the writers say you need to.
So, what if I did? What would happen?
What if I try and find out?