I didn’t feel like writing today, but here I am, lacing up my writing shoes. Here I am, lumbering around the track. That’s all it takes, the coach says. Just keep putting one word in front of the other. It’s not a race, the coach says; no one is keeping time. Of course, we both know that isn’t true. No matter how fast I write, the earth keeps circling the sun. No matter how fast I write, my pen will one day run dry. Forget all that, my coach whispers. Forget the ghost at the finish line, tapping his foot impatiently. Forget your reader in the bleachers, yawning and checking her watch.