Writing 
3 Comments Nuthin’
Pretty damn sad when a writer has nothing to say. Nada. Zip. Zilch. The big ze-ro. Oh I have a myriad of excuses that I could lay out like a nervous merchant spreading his trinkets on a carpet before the King as he passes by in the bazaar, but these excuses du jour count for little in the grand scope of “all things writing.” To be a writer means to write: daily, frequently, in spurts, sessions, or moments of freedom. The operative word here, of course, is “write,” or as defined in the dictionary: to form (as characters or symbols) on a surface with an instrument (as a pen). Ah, so it would follow that this means some sort of “action” on my part, an effort expended to produce words and sentences yielding on rare occasions that delicate fruit called coherent thought.
Discovering motivation, that bane of all writers, is not an exercise for the timid. Without motivation, it’s hard to avoid the siren’s call to do anything, everything, except write. Some are disciplined enough to force their way through the tough times (as defined by moments of intense distraction), while others (e.g., like me) need some inspiration from other thinkers to get started (or keep going).
