One Hundred Days

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I made it.

One hundred days of posts,

of writing things,

sometimes good,

sometimes bad,

most times

somewhere in between,

which is how most writers work

as far as I can tell.

A hundred days of discipline.

A hundred days of no excuses.

A hundred days of trying, making, doing,

of keeping going,

of thinking,

of completing.

A hundred days of learning about myself,

of learning things like this:

a post a day gets the motor running,

the juices flowing,

and the monkey of nothing done

off the back;

writing anything,

even shit,

is better than not writing,

though I try not to write shit,

mostly;

writing when it’s coming,

when it floods out of you,

when there are more words between

your head and the keyboard

than you can handle

is when you must not stop;

writing when there’s nothing,

nothing,

a bone dry brain,

barren and harrowed and worn,

and not a thought in it,

is when you must start.

These things I have learned.

I wonder

what I will learn

in the next

one hundred days.