Some people count sheep if they can’t sleep. I dig dirt. I imagine myself out in the yard digging up some part of the yard for some new project: a walkway, a stone wall, a bocce ball court. (Long story.) And every 5 years or so, I get a truckload of topsoil dropped off so I can elevate a corner of the yard or start a new flower bed. And it occurred to me, sleepily, that the sound of a shovel going into dirt is one of the most satisfying, tangible sounds, of all. The shoosh of metal on dirt, then the creation of something new. And then it hit me that writing was like that, too. The sound of writing, the sense of building something, mearuable bit by bit, and most of all, the going back and reshaping and redoing.