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?