I think I can, I think I can...

I'm having a hard time committing to this writing practice. Making new posts feels satisfying and righteous and productive—but I'm not doing it. Why not? I open a new page and all that comes out is little personal burps about my day that are better suited for a written diary or my more facile online journal. When I'm not looking for work I spend too much time reading others' online journals, and then Facebook, and then Twitter and then blah blah blah the day has passed and the summer has passed it feels like I've got nothing concrete to show for it. 

Well, fall is here—for real!—and I'm making a concerted effort to take myself back to school. I've pulled down Julia Cameron's The Right to Write from the shelf, and I'm opening myself to writing exercises and memory recollection and whatever have you. I'm going to hold the critic and the editor back and let it flow. It's the effort that matters and it will—just as long as, as my friend Jill would say, I'm banging the keys.