A short while ago I was standing in line at a Goodwill waiting to make a purchase. The Goodwill is one of a couple of different places I go to look for good used books. I have found several of the books I own on the mixed up dusty shelves at the Goodwill. There wasn't much today. But I did find a copy of a book called Letters to a Young Writer: Practical and Philosophical Advice. I glanced through the many chapters in it and it seemed more than worth the ninety-nine cents they were asking for it. .

There is never a shortage of advice writers for writers. No one really knows how to write, but that never stops any writer from telling other people how it's done, or trying to explain where down deep in their soul it comes from, and, ultimately, how you can do it too.

The line was long and there were quite a few women in front of me waiting to buy children's clothing. I started going through the book while in line. The author had written 6 novels and had a varied collection of short stories. I glanced through several pages and found the same words staring back at me that I have seen many times when I see these types of books. The same mystical search for whatever that thing is that writers search for that they think makes them writers.

Eventually the line in front of me got down to one lady trying to get the best price for about 20 pieces of clothing. Since nearly every piece was of a different size and style it was obvious to me the woman was going to resell the clothes. She probably sold used clothing at a weekend market somewhere. Just as everything she had was rung up and paid for I realized something. I realized that I had just wasted my time. Whatever was in this book was not for me. There is nothing in any book like this for me. It took me more than a few minutes to realize the truth, the truth of my experience at least. The truth about why I even picked up this book and what it really means to be a "writer" in any sense of the word. I don't need a reason to write. I don't need to understand why I write. I just need to write.

I. Just. Need. To. Write.

I dropped the book on the counter and told the cashier I was not going to take it. I left the building and drove to the nearest coffee shop where I sat down and wrote 3k of some of the best writing I have ever written. Just like that.

And I am not even close to being done.