I haven’t written one word of fiction in almost a month. Something like that, at any rate, though I’ve written tons for work and written up the adventures of my role playing group. Still, nothing for First Million Words. Nothing here in the blog. No tweets, no edits on The Grind Show, nothing, nada, zero, zilch.

Just work, a little reading, endless editing and refining of my ecommerce site, lots of time spent with my girlfriend, family and friends.

But no writing.

We’re creatures of habit. Break your habit, and the weeks slip through your fingers like sand at the beach. You blink, and it’s the end of April, and the last time you wrote something was mid-March. You blink again, it’s June, you’ve been doing work, traveling, having dinner with friends, spending time at the park, reading on the couch, cooking new recipes, volunteering your time, and somehow, just like that, you’re no longer writing.

I had my reasons, or so I thought. Some personal stuff happened in March, and I never quite got my stride back. Instead, I simply expected the urge to write to creep up on me again, and decided to do other things while I waited. Only it hasn’t, and I’m realizing now, thanks to some advice from friends and my girlfriend, that I’ve got to take an active role in this and not simply wait. Passivity is one step from death, and not writing is not being whom I envision myself to be.

So, I’m going to try editing The Grind Show today, even if just a little. I’m going to write something, even if I then go ahead and delete it. It’s like sitting down at an old typewriter and blowing dust of it, peering around at its sides to see if all the machinery is still in place. I bet it is. The question is, does it still have an ink ribbon?