I’ve been avoiding writing for a long while now. First I avoided meaningful writing. I continued to toss out a thin stream of useless drivel with an occasional small gem from time to time. In general however the quality had been low. Lately I haven’t even managed a wee trickle. Not in my public writing, not in my professional writing, not in my personal journaling. There has been nearly nothing there, at least not anything I allowed to escape my skull.

I had though that perhaps I should think about this, consider its cause, analyze. It is obvious to me that the truer course isn’t backwards. It is forward. It is to begin to write now. It is to start again and then to keep it up. It is to start a new habit, as if I had never been a writer at all.

So, as of this moment, I am divorced from my past. I am a new writer, beginning a new journey. A journey in an art I do not understand. Forgive me my mistakes, my fits and starts, my explorations of a craft I do not know. That is after all what I am telling my internal editor. I think I’ll see if I can’t give him the month off. Isn’t he overdue for a vacation anyway.