Sometimes I am frightened by what I love to do. Sometimes I am too afraid to pursue it. Too afraid to stop everything and listen to the goings-on of my thoughts, my mind—memories, emotions, stories, people, loss—and to see if any of it is writable. What I find out is that all of it is writable and I become paralyzed, overwhelmed, and unable to start at times. Where do I start? I’m trying every day to listen better to my thoughts and ideas and if I don’t make something of them instantly, I’ll at least write an idea, a sentence, a fragment, a mere moment. I don’t know if this is the right way to do it, but I’m doing it. I’m writing.