the blank page is always so daunting. so challenging. it's like a dare.

so...i've taken up this dare, inching out further, sending words anonymously out ... there. hm. so pretentious sounding. do i state goals at this point? enter into a contract of sorts with whoever reads this? or just ... write? just writing. that's why i'm here.
...

eliza emailed me today; the anthology project she wrote me about is ramping up again. it's been a year since she last talked to me about it. in that year i've fooled around with the idea of quitting my job, going back to grad school, teaching in the city, going to law school, not quitting my job, going into public interest law, going into public policy, quitting my job and ... not quitting my job. all along, perhaps i should have been thinking of this anthology.

she wants me to contribute something and i have one month to produce a viable selection so that at least one thing gets through. i haven't written seriously in about 2.5 years, if not longer. emails to long-distance, online men don't count, though those are pretty good. bitter limericks about work don't count either.

(although, if william carlos williams wrote about grocery lists, why not write about work?)

i have less than a month; i have three weeks. three weeks to write my ass off and shake the dust from my brain.