Writers write.

I talk to myself.

Like, more than anyone this side of the nuthouse should. It’s my way of processing what my brain pours into itself. I’m my own sounding board. Not that I don’t have friends or family to talk to; in fact, it was my wife who suggested I start this blog. To get me writing again. Which, in a way, is what I’m doing when I’m talking to myself. I’ll start ad-libbing a scene between two characters, and do the back-and-forth, which immediately ceases if/when I get within earshot of anyone who might ask the nice men in white coats to kindly remove that weird mumbler from the action figure aisle.

The problem comes when I think of something really cool, and I’m nowhere near a computer or notepad to write it down. The best I can manage is using the Notes app on my phone to jot down the main idea behind the exchange. Of course, even that ends up being useless for one very important reason:

I don’t write.

That’s why I’m here. Just by customizing my settings and plunking out my About section, I felt the old beastie lurch. Even now, by excising these words from my brain and preserving them here, I can feel the wheels turning. I’m picking up a very dull knife and scraping it with every word. Making it sharper. Or maybe just… less dull.

Writers write.

I will make myself a writer again. Maybe I’ll stop talking to myself. Just look at me now.

I’m talking to you.