Well, okay, more like back from a really long hiatus of having nothing important to say. Though it is October and zombies are all the rage so believe what you want.

Granted, I still have nothing of absolute value to contribute, but hey, here I am anyway.

So, today I think I'm going to philosophize on the nature of writers. We really are an odd lot. Moody and creative and generally eccentric from what I have experienced.

More interestingly to me though are the number of people out there espousing to want to be writers that don't actually write. I am, or was, one such writer. I wanted to create these stories that went through my head and share them, but writing is hard and I didn't put in the work.

Many of my friends are also this kind of writer. They claim to want to write, but never seem to actually get to the writing part. In one case I think it's sheer laziness. In another it may be a fear of rejection, and in a third it seems that what the person really wants is to be creative and other outlets allow this without the effort. And good for him!

I can't do that. I tried to give up writing. I wasn't doing it, felt guilty over it, and so decided to just decide once and for all not to try.

It lasted less than two days. Fact of the matter is whether I ever make it as a "real" writer, I can't not write. The characters haunt me, the ideas keep me up at night, and there is nothing--nothing at all--like the feeling of finishing a story. I live for that feeling.

So, now I know. And knowing, I've been much better at actually getting my butt in the chair and the words on paper. My mood improved, ideas started flowing again and I, a dedicated short story writer, am now 10,000 words into a novel.

All it took was remembering that this is something I do first and foremost for me. Because I love it. Whether it sells or not, nothing can take that away.

So, I guess, in a way, I'm back from the dead after all.