The best laid plans of mice and men

... come to naught or no end.

I promised myself I wouldn't do this. I was going to scramble what shards of self-motivation I had left and would force myself to blog at least twice a week. It would be good therapy and keep my fingers fast and flexible.

The last time I wrote on this page was nearly two weeks ago.

Of course there are plenty of excuses as to why this page has gone dormant, most notably a 6'5" excuse. It just is so much harder to sit in front of a computer screen pounding out words and turning them into witty phrases when you have sad puppy-dog eyes looking at you wanting to watch a movie or go out for a run.

Yet a writer that does not write is just dust. It doesn't matter if you have three freelance stories pitched out there waiting for a response or a half-dozen seeds of a story in various stages of concept development; it's all about the words. And to get those words on paper, you need some inspiration. Or discipline.

Lately, I've found neither.

It's a slippery slope, not writing. The practice is labor intensive, terribly inefficient and simultaneously mind-blowing and brain-busting. But at is best, it is one of the most relaxing and exhilarating experiences one can have. In some ways the latter was beaten out of me by too much of the former as a professional writer. My greatest fear is one day I stop writing for a week and that week becomes 10 years. Maybe that's a bit irrational, but if you know my personality you know my compulsiveness goes both ways.

I promise to be better on the discipline side of writing for my benefit, and maybe with a bit of inspiration, it will turn into your reward.