My good friend NPR walks up to me.

He’s in a huff. Shaking his head. Rubbing bloodshot eyes. He looks like he’s been up all night, and he probably has. Doing the peoples’ work. Raking the muck.

“You’ve gotta hear this,” he says, staring at me hard.

He launches into it. Gives me all the filth of the day, and I listen. Somehow, both addicted and repelled by the stories he spits in my ear. It’s the same every day.

He’s dragging me down, this friend of mine. Yet, I know I have to listen. Can’t bury your head in the sand, right?

Plus, I’ve got this book I’m writing. The book that’s been flowing out of me. Flowing, because it’s Book 2 in my Dystopian sci-fi series, called ‘The Allmind’, and the stories NPR brings me are like cattle for my slaughterhouse.

And man oh man, have I been cranking out some prime rib these days.

I’m in this weird phase, where the writing is coming along, maybe better than ever before. Usually, that’s enough to keep me whistling through my day. Usually.

I listen to my over-worked, over-stressed friend, NPR, and I get this strange, angry energy. It’s empowering. Depressing. Both dragging me down, yet also, giving me something to write for. Fight for.

Maybe I should pull the plug. Stop NPR the next time he shuffles up to me, wanting to keep me wise to the goings on of the day. Maybe next time I’ll stop him before he speaks and say,

‘Buddy, I just can’t hear it today.’

Will my writing tank, drained of it’s delicious venom by my willful ignorance?

Or, will that added peace of mind make my writing better?

Can’t bury our heads in the sand, even if the sky is burning, right?

Yet, if I go blind from staring at it too long, will I still be able to write?

Unedited & Unfiltered,

B. Quinn



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