(From my book, Morning Musings, available on Amazon)

I got a compliment yesterday, and it’s stayed with me — which is impressive, because I’m the guy who usually hears a compliment and silently thinks the person who gave it doesn’t know what they’re talking about.

This time, though, it stuck.

A longtime and dear friend told me she was impressed with my writing about Katie. She said she’s always wanted to write a book but never figured out how to start. Then she added something that really landed — she admired that I’ve stuck with it.

That hit a spot inside me.

See, I’ve always thought of myself as a quitter — in fact, a rather grand quitter. I won’t list all the things I’ve started and abandoned along the way, but let’s just say the roadside of my life is littered with good intentions and half-finished projects.

One that still haunts me? The guitar. I got to a beginner’s level, called it “good enough,” and walked away. Sure, I still strum now and then, but mostly I play no better than I did years ago. Yeah, it bugs me — and I’m not sure why I don’t do something about it.

When my friend said what she said, I told her the truth — I’ve thought about quitting Katie countless times. I’ve sat staring at a blank monitor, waiting for words that don’t want to show up. I’ve said, “That’s it, I quit!” And I meant it.

Then, somehow, by the end of the next day, my backside hurts from sitting too long on a folding chair, writing until I finally reach the end of something.

And that feels good. Accomplished, even.

The thing is, all I’ve done is write what I was meant to write. The story still has missing pieces — parts I only think I know, and others I don’t know at all. I’m sure there will be more moments when I stare at that blank screen and think I’m done.

But I pray there will be more moments when I can say, “My butt hurts.”

Because that means I’m still at it.

I’ve read about visualization — great athletes and fine actors swear by it. I used to think it was all mumbo-jumbo. But when I started writing Katie, I began having a vision before I’d fall asleep.

It wasn’t something I made up — it just appeared.

In it, I’m sitting at a table in a bookstore, signing copies of Katie. Imagine that — me at a book signing. (Audience laughter encouraged.)

Yeah, I do imagine that occasionally. And you know what? I’m beginning to believe it could happen.

In the meantime, I’m taking my friend Andy’s suggestion: next time I’m housesitting and all I’ve got is a folding chair and a TV tray, I’ll bring a pillow.

Quitting is easy — I know that for a fact. But in this case, quitting isn’t an option.

After all, if I quit… how will I ever get to that book signing?