Dear reader, ever since I told you I was planning to write a book, guess what I've been doing? Practising the piano. Oh sure, there's a story...several paragraphs of it, at least. But how is it that whenever I sit down to write, my fingers suddenly itch to play a little American salon music? At the rate I'm going, le Bananier will be mine by the end of the month (just kidding...Gottschalk is going to elude me forever).
I'm not saying plans for a book have been scrapped, per se. But I am saying I may have to trick myself into writing it. I may have to tell myself I'm going to do everything but.