Very little.

This is getting embarrassing: Since last week at this time I have managed three, and only three, barebone pencil sketches of Little Waltzes. None is anywhere close to being an actual score yet, just ABORTIVE ATTEMPTS. At least they’re a start, right?

Here’s what I’ve got, just so you can see that I mean it when I say that the only thing stopping you from writing that novel or painting that mural or laying out a beautiful labyrinth in your back yard or writing Ten Little Waltzes is your own fear that it isn’t going to be perfect.

Behold the imperfection:

Just like Beethoven did it, right?