If you want to write, you have to write. Write quickly, so quickly that the truth pops out before you can stem the tide, before your good self files the edge off. Write slowly, so slowly that each word rolls out of your mind, your pen, your keyboard with the full heft and texture that only it can offer. Savor each one as it drops, ripe fruit, staining the page, making a splashy, verbal mess. Write badly, so badly that you tire of it, that it makes you blush, groan, and laugh at yourself, so badly, so far from your dream of good writing, that magic can happen. Write constantly – in notebooks, on the computer, on the backs of envelopes, on your arm if you must. Every surface shapes your prose, your poetry; every risk opens a portal. (Note: Not all portals are safe or fruitful, but all portals are worth opening.) Write until you no longer ask, Is it good? Does it mean something? Will it make someone love me? Write like breathing. Write like sweat. Write because you write because you write because you write. Words are cheap. Words are abundant. Make a glorious mess. The editing starts tomorrow.
[And if you want instigation, inspiration, or motivation…let a workshop jump start your process.]