I am always thinking about writing. All day long, all evening , and when I wake up in the middle of the night, I think about writing.

My problem is that I don’t write. I’m at a loss to explain why.

I have hundreds of ideas. Ideas for stories. Concepts for novels. Memories to share. Commentaries. Essays. Observations about people or the events taking place around me. Even the occasional journal entry.

I don’t turn my ideas into finished pieces. Hell, most of the time I don’t turn them into drafts.

I have the time to write, too. Not endless hours to write and re-write and ponder the meaning of each word, but enough time to move a piece forward, to finish a short note, or to tell a little story. I can choose to write when I have the time. I can choose to make the time to write.

But I don’t.

I find other things to fill the time. Sometimes useful, even important things, and sometimes I just waste time.

Setting little goals — a small daily word count, a short blog post, even a tweet or two – hasn’t worked. Taking a class hasn’t worked. Something has kept me from my keyboard for months, and I’m trying to fight through it and start writing again.

Here’s a start. We’ll see what happens next.