I am a writer – for that I can be sure. Words, they flow easily from my brain to my fingers, clickity-clacking this keyboard until my thoughts become opaque and coherent.

However, what makes a writer a blogger? Must I post daily into this little box of blank, trying to come up with unique, funny, interesting, informative?

You know what I say to that?

Bleck.

Is that even a word? I don’t rightly care if it isn’t. The idea of writing a daily blog fills me with bleck. I find that some days, I’m ON. I have words – lots and lots of words. Ideas and concepts and theories flow through me like the in-and-out of a pint of Kellerbier Munich Dunkel Lager from the Territorial Brewing Company on a Saturday evening.

But other days… oh, those other days… work and life and family obligations and bills and whatdya mean it’s my turn to take out the trash? Didn’t I do it last week?

My point is, and I do have a point – if something blog-worthy hits my brain, I’ll write said something here. It’ll be profound or funny, you’ll giggle and if you’re not careful, you may learn something. But I won’t – WILL NOT – write just to put words on the page. I have a novel to complete, after all, and I want that to be my primary literary focus. When inspiration strikes, you’ll know.

In the mean time, it’s my turn to take out the trash. Bleck… perhaps. But it’s my trash, too, and at least the trash is not written her