by Tom Swift

I am trying to draft an essay. I am putting pressure on myself to make it good. This is not advised. First drafts and good are mutually exclusive.

When I start an essay I am cranky until I have a solid draft. When I have a solid draft, I can fly. I can edit and rewrite until the cows come home. But until then, it’s wheelbarrowing uphill. With a load of rocks.

Anyway, the essay is about baseball. And one baseball player in particular. It’s about summer memories. It’s about Time.

And, well, it’s why I have not been writing in this space of late.

I only have so much time — and the bandwidth gets drained quickly by these dang first drafts.