Why do I write when there's laundry to do?

This afternoon I can honestly say that my house is such a mess it smells. And I have a lousy, muted-by-middle-age sense of smell. It smells like sheets that haven’t been changed, a couple of wet diapers, and dirty dishes in the sink. And here I sit, writing.

All afternoon I have been looking for the right words while Ben sleeps.

I just went to the mailbox.

There was an envelope from my friend John. In it was a copy of Sy Safransky’s piece on writing from The Sun (December 2006). It is full of good advice for writers. It’s moving and right and makes me glad I spent all afternoon at the keyboard rather than cleaning.

But even better was what John had written in his lefty scrawl on the back:

“Please write some more music for our eyes. Love, John ”

Thank you, John.