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Create.
Every day of February.
No matter how exhausted.
No matter how many other projects beg for attention and direction.
No matter if it’s after midnight and you have work in 5 hours.
You’ll write, and you’ll write, and you’ll write your heart out and your clichés in.
You’ll wring those glorious words out of your sultana hands, because the voice that drove you once has gone still and the only way to get it back is to force it.
There are 1 billion beats your heart will march.
There are 7 billion people who do not give a fuck whether you live or die.
There are 100 million bazillion bacteria in your mouth that do not give a fuck whether you live or die.
There are 10 million words that you will not write by idling.
Write.
You can edit later.
Just write.
Don’t give me bullshit.
Don’t give me excuses.
Just fucking write.
Likes
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Express delivery OF CUTE. Oh, Enid.
PS Those are Tilly’s knickers in the background, I found them...
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Forever a cockblock.
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So I was just sent a text message that said (in German) that I am a beautiful woman with a red cat.
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“Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my...”
