There was a time when I was productive. No seriously.

Every day I tell myself I’ll start writing tomorrow. Maybe I’ll write a song. Or maybe I’ll write a short story, or a novel, or three sentences that tell a story. Anything.

And then I turn on the TV or the video games or the naps.

The good thing about it all though? I have made my creative mark on the world. Am I talking about my multi-plastic-selling CD? Am I talking about my New York Times bestselling-adjacent novel Snapshot?

I am not. I am of course talking about my kids. I’ve somehow managed to inspire them to find their own musical style, playing all sorts of instruments…

So while I may regret not going out and playing and singing writing playing whatever it is… I’m more than satisfied seeing my kids pushing the envelope of modern guitar and rock and roll.

I just wish one of them wasn’t into that screaming heavy metal noise where they wear masks and it’s all angry and okay okay I’ll give them the space they need. I’m sure it’ll be okay.