Yesterday (or the day before) I wrote about keeping our promises to ourselves. Or giving up certain illusions about who we are as writers and what we do.

This morning I’m thinking about how much more we could do if we just would. Let’s say somebody writes a page a day. Lovely. Good for him/her. But why not write two? The day’s sonnet didn’t turn out that well, but tomorrow’s will be better. True, but why not pick up that sonnet again in the afternoon?
I’d rather go to the track, too, or watch “The Wire.” But that’s just behavior. Or the gospel of the Collective. Or simple habit. Things that can be changed.
Most of us know the story of the writer who said to her children, “I don’t love you when I’m writing.”
Do that. Love only the work. Putting it first if only for a few minutes a day. And then a few more. And then more.
I know, I know — I’m waxing philosophical. But if you’ll bring your car around, I’ll wax that, too.