I am supposed to be writing a book proposal for a doctoral class, but it goes slowly. I am not sitting here waiting for creativity to hit. On the other hand, I don’t seem to be able to turn on a spigot and then go with the flow. So, while waiting for the spigot actually opens–even if it’s only a trickle–I write about anything. I liken the process to a continual warm-up before the big fight. Wrapped in my bathrobe, I bounce around and throw punches into the air.

I keep waiting for the bell to ring.