Because…

…I have a new desk, free, found on the side of the road. My first grown-up desk.

…the cycle of not writing seems to be closing on itself.

…I’ve been working on detaching myself from the last manuscript and the aloof reception it garnered from a cadre of agents.

…because The Aurora Project (the manuscript title has been changed to AP from The Improbable Colony) is what I want it to be and its place in the drawer next to my two other unpublished novels is okay.

…I always tell students that they must write first for themselves and with tAP, I did just that, wrote something just for me, because I was jazzed about the work, not thinking about selling the thing.

..the work on tAP was its own reward and the work on the next thing will be too.

…I have dozens of blank notebooks that need filling.

…Grace has been bugging me to write.

…Grace and I had an ongoing exchange about a Faerie Family while we were camping and that family, The Goodlites, might need their own story.

…I write with my fiction students in class and I sat down a few days ago and began expanding on one of those brief freewriting prompts.

…there is a story there, something I can tell simply, unadorned.

…I can’t blame people or places or responsibilities for not writing.

…I’ve hit this snag before, and sometimes things must run their courses.

…my age, really, has little to do with it. Richard Adams published  his first book, Watership Down at age 53. I have a decade at least.

…my job is to teach writing and although I’ve been talking to my class about not-writing in my life, I do not teach “not writing,” So it was time to do something about it.

…I made the reservations to AWP–one of the biggest, if not the biggest, writing conferences in the country, and I couldn’t convince myself not to go.

…I’ve spent a lot of money getting fancy pieces of paper that say I know how to write.

…my experience demands more of me.

…my imagination demands more of me.

…my place in the continuum of writers needs defining.

…because a veil lifted, somehow, perhaps due to meditation or cycling, that allowed me to see beyond my not-writing.

…mostly, and most importantly, I have started the baby steps back to writing, started putting in my time at the desk, for this one reason: It is easier to write than to obsess about not-writing. Not writing consumes me. When I am writing, I am different. So when people ask me about writing, about what draws me to writing, about whether or not I love writing, or about how writing fuels my inner fire, or if writing feels like my passion, or if writing is fun (ugghhh, no)… I can say: I write only for this one reason: because it is less painful than not-writing.

…those pages are waiting for me, now, now, now.

Ain’t this here thing about writin’?

So whys there not no words here bout words? The person what’s in charge of this dump is gettin’ off easy, in my opinion, humble though it may be. I heard him calling hisself a writer since he was in his tweens, but what he’s doing here seems more like relaxin’ than wordsmithin’. It takes a fire to do this thang properly, from what I hear tell. It gets all consuming on folks. The fella that’s bloggin’ this here blog can’t keep the flame lit, by my reckonin’. He feels this terrible doubt bout his own pages and then when the time comes to sit down and craft him some stories, that doubt throws a whole pail a water on the fire, till all that’s left a little smokin’, vague longing, not the requisite inferno. Tsk, tsk, is all I can say. What’s a fella to do with an issue such as this? Some might say, shut up writer man, stop thinkin’ and get to doin’. But even that might not work. It’s a heap of trouble. That much I know. Calm down, says another one, because it all will work itself out. Write 1000 words a day, says another one, cause that’s the only way back. Give up totally, says the loudest voice, because the world don’t need another writer. The world don’t need another book. If you read a book a day from now till the rapture, you’d still never run outta books. What good’s one more? What good at all. Best get to livin’ instead of worryin’. Now tell me, which voice is that poor boy supposed to listen to? Which one indeed?