Postcards From The Apocalypse (Which Is Strangely Dull)

I have to begin. Even if it’s faltering, inadequate, or barely “writing” at all, I have to stop waiting, stalling, staring out the window, and start typing. The trouble is, I don’t feel I know anything much anymore. I know only warm and cold. Almost everything is cold, but some things are warm, and that’s where I focus.

I think about what a writer shoul…