As I mentioned earlier, I had a sit-down talk with myself about the future of this blog, and whether or not to renew my domain name. It ended up begin decided for me by the autorenew feature with the hosting company.

I have not been writing. (Yes. I am a black-belt master of the subtle art of stating the obvious.) I have been horribly overworked, on the road far, far too much, and a little at odds about where to take this little site.

In short, I have been a bit too busy living my life to have any kind of coherent commentary on it. Which has its own sadness. I think that I have been so overwhelmed that I have drifted through the last year or two on autopilot, without any time for appreciating the experience.  There are some writers that use the virtual world of their own creation as a substitute for genuine living.   But I think, like most, I use writing as an outlet for prolonging a moment in time and exploring, not so much the literal experience, but the truth hidden underneath it.   I think that without that outlet I have cut myself adrift, and I would like to return to it.

But my current lifestyle means I can no longer leave myself the luxury of unstructured writing if I am going to keep doing it.  I think I need to start giving myself underpinnings if I am going to keep disciplined enough to write every day.  I am just starting to form ideas about what that framework is going to be.

I also need to stop thinking about the readers.   Don’t get me wrong – I appreciate every one of you out there who bother to come by and spend any amount of your precious time reading what small coherences I manage to put out.  But too many times, I spent time crafting things that other people want to read – and not necessarily what I want to write.  It had started to suck the fun right out of it.  I find that I write best if I just simply sit, without a target audience in mind, and write.    Not that there isn’t refinement and rearrangement, but the initial structure of each thing I write is a creature unto itself.  It builds itself and pulls its first breath as I pour out words upon a page, and then the sculpting of the fine features comes later (or not at all, as I am inclined – sometimes I just abandon the poor hapless things).  I need to find my voice again, and not take on the one that I think everyone else expects to see.

To bring this long, rambling, monologue to a point, I am back.   I hope.  I really just need to be.