I always say I’m going to start writing again and I never do.  Some pretty good ideas pop around inside my head, that’s true.  At least I think they’re pretty good.  And then I say I’ll train myself to write and give myself a goal.  Like, 300 words a day.
For a few days I’ll keep up with it but then something will happen that’ll make me skip a day.  And when I skip one day, I’ll skip two.  Then three.  Then four or five.  Eventually, a year will have passed and I haven’t done anything.
I keep swearing I’ll write something and enter a contest.  Something that’ll give me motivation to write something meaningful and, maybe, get some kind of justification.  After all, if I can win a contest surely I can get something published, right?  But that’ll never happen if I never finish something.  The chances are even slimmer if I never start anything.
Then, I think, maybe it’s because I don’t have the correct tools.  I’m not writing with the right stuff.  If I type on the computer then I’m apt to start playing games, checking my email, and doing sweet bugger all on Facebook.
So I get a notebook and some pens and try writing on paper.  I figure if I get a notebook small enough I can carry it around with me and write whenever inspiration hits me.  That usually lasts as long as it takes for the notebook to be filled with phone messages, shopping lists, and strange doodles.  Also, by that time, someone has borrowed my pen and not returned it.
Then there’s my blog which should be able to be updated from just about anywhere.  I actually have about four projects in mind for it, I just don’t know when I’ll ever get around to actually writing them.  The worst part is, I think I would find them entertaining.  So it should be easy to write them up, I’d think.  It just never happens.
Maybe I just don’t have what it takes.  I am having some sort of existintial issue at the moment; perhaps this is part of it.
I’m 40 years old already.  Working on 41, actually.  While it would be great to become a famous (and rich) author around this time, it would be a lot nicer to be younger and be able to enjoy all the fancy parties, fancy cars, groovy houses and whatever else comes with that.  If anything.  Actually, aside from authors on TV and in movies, I’m not sure how they live.  Maybe I should send another email to James Blaylock and ask him.  I think he’s sort of used to my emails by now.  It’s been a while since I’ve sent him an email, though.
I guess I’ll just have to wait and see how it goes, you know?