It’s the Fourth of July. I watched the original version of John Waters’ “Hairspray” last night and was surprised to find it made me cry. I think I was crying for what I believed when I first watched that movie as a child, that the sixties had changed things, that racism was over, that things were getting better. Not that they haven’t gotten better, in some ways. But in other ways…well, you know.

I’ve been writing a ton. I feel super inspired. I’ve written three big stories in the past month or so, and two of them are really good. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them, exactly, but I’m happy to be feeling inspired again. It really is just a matter of sitting down every day and doing it. And laying off the weed has helped, too, honestly.

As for the novel, maybe it isn’t its time, yet. I’ve struggled with it, I’ve made headway, I’ve got a clear path for when I finally decide to delve back into it. I get anxious when I think of how much I love it and want people to read it, because I’m afraid of it going stale. But I have to trust that it will be ready when the time is right. I have to go with the flow of things or else I’m just blocked up.