Let’s set the way-back machine for 1994, the first day of advanced creative writing class with David Foster Wallace. Hmm, are we there?  Good. First impression.  Who’s the guy in the doo-rag and the NKOTB t-shirt?  And, why is he chewing tobacco like a fiend? I’m in trouble.  I don’t know what otiose, fecund, or inchoate means. Why is this guy leering at all the girls? He keeps saying if

Sometimes my word count comes easy.  Other days it’s pure torture.  An interesting thing I’ve found is that my writing when I’m inspired doesn’t read any better than my writing when every word is a bloody victory. It’s all about BIS.  Butt-in-seat.  If you can get your butt in the seat and get your word count, all is good in the world.