I know you are thinking, “Gosh. Can it get any more boring?”

I’m thinking, “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

How did I become a writer? I learned to write at age 4 or 5 and then just never stopped. As a teenager, I self published a book of the most angst ridden crappy poetry the world will likely ever see and found the courage — the audacity — to sell it. To people I liked! As a young man at the dawn of the Internet, I co-wrote a zine, posted half-baked prose on a BBS, and emailed my work to my friends on AOL. I co-wrote and published a general interest magazine for handheld devices. No matter my occupation or job, I never let it get in the way of writing — making art and putting it out there — every day.

If you want to get better at your art, you have to make your art every day. If you want your art to spread and gain an audience, you have to put what you make out there into the world. And, more often than not, that means looking for something to inspire that art. Some days, that may mean some deep, soul moving, insight never before explored. Some days, it may be blogging your breakfast1. Some days that means the great stuff. Some days that means the less than great stuff. Some days that means the truly boring stuff. But you have to find the courage to put it out there for others to see, share, shred, or otherwise speculate on it. You often may not like what you hear but you take it and go back and make more art tomorrow.

  1. My morning consumption started as it almost always does — with a cup of coffee. A single cup, dark roast, made in a drip coffee maker. Because, let’s be real here, I’ve got three coffee drinkers in my household and I’m only half awake so I’m not plunging, pressing, or pouring-over a damn thing. More than an hour later, I had a bowl of cereal. I don’t know the brand. It is available at Trader Joe’s, is made primarily for kids, has a panda on the box, is allegedly organic, and tastes like peanut butter. I say “allegedly” because, well, how can we really be sure? How do we know this whole organic thing is not a marketing buzzword to make us all pay more to participate in the illusion. That illusion being that anything we did not grow or kill ourselves is likely crap. And, so, I move on next to a banana that is better traveled than I might ever be.