I used to believe creativity was a wild animal. A magnificent, unpredictable beast that would only grace me with its presence if I sat very still in a darkened room, burning expensive sage and waiting for the muse to strike me like a bolt of divine lightning. I thought routine was the enemy—a cage for …
I have a confession. Every morning, I brush my teeth for exactly two minutes. Not because I’m a dental hygiene fanatic, but because my electric toothbrush has a built-in timer that buzzes every thirty seconds to tell me to move to a different quadrant of my mouth. I stand there, foaming at the lips like …
I have a confession. Every morning, I brush my teeth for exactly two minutes. Not because my dentist—a lovely man with an unsettling passion for gum measurements—told me to. But because my electric toothbrush has a built-in timer. It buzzes every thirty seconds, ordering me to move to a different quadrant of my mouth. And …
The Tyranny of the Blank Page and the Miracle of the Boiled Egg There is a particular horror, known to anyone who has ever tried to make something out of nothing, that arrives around 9:15 a.m. It’s the moment the second cup of coffee has cooled to a tepid, disappointing brown, the inbox has been …
I have a confession. Every morning, I brush my teeth for exactly two minutes. Not because my dentist scares me (though she does, with her tiny mirror and her gentle, disappointed sighs), but because my electric toothbrush has a built-in timer. It buzzes every thirty seconds to tell me to move to a new quadrant …