So I write

I want to be a professional writer one day.

I'm about a third of the way through my third rewrite of my second reworking of my novel.  It's hardly my first.  I have three or four other stories constantly writing and rewriting themselves in the back of my head, an archive of ideas, and a whole slew of research materials.

So, right now, I'm an amateur writer.  But I am a writer.

After an intense conversation with my mother, I've decided to revive this blog.

Seems a bit unrelated, but really, I don't think it is.  I've observed a lot of other writers who write blog posts.  I don't know; maybe having a place to rant about the troubles of storywriting will help me be more productive.  Or let off steam.  Or something.

Or maybe I just want a place to ramble about the research I've done and the books I've read.

Or maybe I want to bond with other writers out there.

Either way, I want to make progress on my novel.  So I'll write.  This is writing, words from my head that go out into the world and are read.  I don't make money from this, but writing is my first love.  I wonder if there will ever be a romance more enduring than my long-standing marriage to the written word.  We have our problems, but not a day goes by without writing in my mind and words on my pages.

So I write.  I live and breathe and sleep and eat and bleed words.  I wonder sometimes how other people live without characterization and grammar and rhythm and rhyme and love triangles and dictionaries and swords and sorcery and love and death and why and how and when will it end and worlds in my head and whole lives lived before my eyes, and I think to myself that no one could possibly feel fulfilled without words.

I am a writer, and this is my blog.

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"Can you imagine what I would do if I could do all I can?"—Sun Tzu

—L