It’s Friday again and I have to write an essay for you.

I could start with a humorous anecdote, maybe something self-deprecating —I’ve been doing a fair amount of that sort of self-flagellation lately.

Maybe about the time I fell asleep in the library in college and was so embarrassed when I was awoken by another student that….

Or maybe a shocking fact — someone just told me that in a recent poll 80% of Americans said they want to write a book (I wonder what percentage want to read one?).

How about an April Fool's gag? About my upcoming Netflix special or my MacArthur award or my Starry Night neck tattoo?

Or maybe a bold assertion, like “I shot a man in Reno just so he would stay still while I drew him…”

It doesn’t really matter what I write in the first draft of the first paragraph of this essay. In just a few minutes it’ll be revised, moved, or deleted. And yet those first words are the most important and difficult ones I will write today. Not because they need to be brilliant or breakthrough or pithy or genius.

But because I have to write them.

I need to get something, anything down on paper or up on the screen so the gears will slowly, finally start to turn. Overcoming inertia is the hardest part of the creative process. But momentum is pretty easy to gain once that first line is down.

The worst thing I can do is to stop and think about what I’m doing right now ….

Whoops, I just did.

I stopped to write a transitional sentence and nothing worked, even though I rewrote it six times. Another part of my brain was engaging. The critical, persnickety part that is there to evaluate and rewrite and haul out the ol’ Roget.

But it’s too early for that set of tools. I’ll come back and prune and polish later, get rid of all the egregious typos (how do you spell egregious?), see if any of this palaver makes sense and is worth sharing.

But not yet. For now I just need to slam and peck and throw up characters in a line.

Polishing has its place. But polishing only matters when there’s a nice pile of raw material to grind down.

And I’ll only have that — if I start.

Your pal,

Danny

P.S. Ah, the meta, self-referential essay — a classic bit of subterfuge. It gives the impression of being an idea but is actually just a lazy snippet of prestidigitation. Well played, sir! Followed, of course by the "postscript," another opportunity for razzle-dazzle and distraction. You are in rare form today indeed, Gregory. How about throwing in a few links to actual ideas created by actual thinkers, like, say, this one? Or.... Wait, don't share any more cool links, doofus. They're meant to be reserved just for the people who subscribe to the Tuesday essays. They're paying to get free stuff like this. (Suckers). Oh, smart, let's insult the people who support your work. Without them, you'd be living in a cardboard box and, with another Arizona summer coming on, that is not where you want to be. Instead, let's thank the nice paying subscribers. Thank you, nice paying subscribers. I love you. I also love the cheapskates who don't pay for Tuesday essays — only not quite as much. It's more of an affection than an actual love, like you'd have for your regular barista, or your mailman, or your chiropodist, but not the sort of deep feelings I have for say, my wife, or my son, or my dog. Yes, I think of my paying subscribers like I do my pug. I am happy to be awoken by your snoring on my pillow and to clean up after you've consumed too much rawhide. You rock. The rest of you can just sleep on the floor.