I have a picture of EB White hanging on the wall in my office. He is sitting at his writing desk, which is in a boathouse. White sits on a stark bench, hands poised over his typewriter. The only other items in the room are the ashtray on the table, and the waste can. To me, this photo represents the essence of writing. No distractions. No procrastinating. Just a man, his writing tool of choice, and the words.

Once upon a time, I loved the writing tools more than the writing itself. I loved to talk about writing, to speculate about writing, and to collect writing pens, writing paper, and writing software. One day, when I was complaining about not having time to actually write, my wife asked me, “Why does it bother you?”