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As a kid I used to count down things in my head. I would stare out the window of my second-floor bedroom and wait for people. We lives on a dead end street so I would watch the fork in the road; someone could either go up the hill or to our house. I would watch out the window for anybody. It could be my parents coming back from work or the store, it could be a buddy or a girlfriend; it was often just me waiting for a car to drive by. Just anyone at all. “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…” and if nobody had gone by yet, I might extend it: “z…e…r…o…” I’m not certain if this was an only-child thing or a not-having-enough-friends thing, but I was always waiting for stuff to happen — then becoming concerned if they didn’t. If my countdown elapsed with nothing occurring, I would pace my room, circle through it until reaching the window and starting the countdown again. This often went on for hours. It was like setting a deadline for nothing. But as far writing a novel goes, it’s not for nothing. I no longer have time to wait and hope things will happen.
One reason I’ve put off writing my current project for so long is because it’s about hopping trains, something I don’t feel authoritative in describing. My feeling has always been that you should write what you know, and if you don’t know something, get on it right away. In their essay, Beating Writer’s Block, Devon Price says, “When we expose…
