Tomorrow’s steel cut oats simmer on the stove.
Freshly peeled ginger steeps in a mug of hot water.
It’s Wednesday evening, and I’ve been totally–unapologetically–unproductive for two days in a row.
I’m looking for a way back into my writing. Into that story that has to be finished.
When will I make the time? When will I feel dedicated enough?
And then Ira Glass speaks soothes my writing soul.
Writing in the Rain 