Maybe it’s like anything else you do when you don’t want to, but somehow it feels different. If you’re committed to something, you follow through with it, right? Or at least you should. But not writing? Man, I can think of 1,249,844 reasons to just skip it. Blogs abound, news articles pour in, opinions explode from every corner of this little world… so no one will notice if I don’t! After all, there aren’t really that many people paying attention, anyway. It’s not like someone else is holding me accountable to write.

But it’s a goal this year, it’s something I want to improve upon, and it’s one of those things that I’m just going to have to grind out. Other things are more fun to grind out, though. Earlier this morning I was working on a rewrite of Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing… that seemed like more fun. It seemed more tangible and meaningful.

For the moment, this seems like work. It even feels like a cop-out. Writing about writing is sort of like cheating, no? But I’m forcing myself to do it. Are you still reading? How much more do I have to write before you get bored and click your Stumble Upon button or head back to Facebook?

No photos, no witticisms, no profundity. Just this. When I really do want to, I’m a lot like my son. I stall. This whole post I’ve been stalling. Stall… stall… stall… schleuph!