Starting things and not finishing them is actually not the tragedy it’s cast as. Not always anyway. Especially in the case of art, and especially especially in the case of writing. Sentence scraps and half-written short stories and the first 60 pages of a novel that will never exist are all still something!! They might never be anything but that’s okay because they’re something. They’re practice, or they’re stretching tense muscles, or they’re just proof that your brain’s working and your heart is still in it. Nothing is wasted. No time is lost.


















