let me tell you something

one of the major perks about our new place is that i now have a writing studio. the property manager put up a whole bunch of walls in the basement of our building in order to create storage units. i turned our unit into a studio. it has a window.

i'm usually in the studio for four hours every day. no shit. i read an hour of "how to write" books, an hour of short stories, an hour of critical theory, and then i write for an hour. the studio is perfect. it's deathly quiet, no one disturbs me, and i find the time just flies.

i've also written much more then i ever thought possible. something about locking yourself in a bare, silent room makes writing much easier. i haven't finished anything yet, but i also haven't had those "staring at the wall or spending hours on the internet (particularly blogs) when you know you should be writing" attacks.

yesterday we got the internet hooked up at the house and all of that motivation flew fast out of my tiny basement window. the short story reading hour went fine. for the "how to write" hour i decided to read blogs about books and ended up reading espn.com. the critical theory hour started out ok, but then i needed to look up some words on an online dictionary and decided to stop by the porch. where i remain.

at this writing, i'm supposed to be halfway through the writing hour. i have my document open, behind this window. damn this beautful invention called "internet." damn its inventor, al gore. damn them all.