“Write a story a month,” Larah said. We were brunching on a picnic table outside Wheatsville, on South Lamar.

My mouth full of a Coolhaus Double Chocolate Chip Cookie + Dirty Mint Chip Ice Cream sandwich, I said, “Hmmm?”

“One story a month, January through October,” Larah said. “Then publish it by December.”

“You don’t know how hard that would be,” I said, swallowing. “Besides, there’s football to watch, and beer to drink, and parties and shows and stuff. This is Austin! No one’s gonna sit there and write a story a month while living in Austin.”

“Oh,” she said. “I thought you were a writer.”

And so the gauntlet was thrown.