Happy Cruising !

At left, the Turbina. She was an early turbine powered boat used to demonstrate the new technology. At the time of this photo, she was the fastest thing afloat.

We writers bitch and moan and whine about the difficulties we have. I'm guilty.

We commiserate in the frustration and the tortured artist syndrome that results from our pursuit.

Take a minute and breathe. You are creating something from nothing. You're engaging in the very act of storytelling with which the famed Homer kept Greeks occupied all these years ago. You are writers. It is what you chose.

I'm here this evening just exhausted from a day of too many calls and business opportunities and technical issue and ... and I'm going to write. I have three pages of notes from a dull call at the start of my day and a page of notes from my first coffee this morning. I've looked forward to this time all day long.

I'll finish this post, take Louis Foxhound out for a brief walk in the snow, and correct a scene that went badly when I gave it too many words without direction and purpose.

We write. Some publish. Some sell. But we all write. There is a glory in that. We chose our own device of torment and the pen is it. How wonderful for us.

Just take a minute and reflect that "I wanted to be writer." You are - provided you are writing. If you aren't working on something, you're wanking. Stop that and pick up a pen.

We are ourselves boats on a sea of ink whose headings are of our own choosing.

That's pretty wonderful when all is said and done, isn't it?

Now, walk the foxhound then write something. There's a nice pot of tea all cozy warm waiting to keep you at it.

When you're stepping out, think "I am a writer" and try smiling. You only have to do it once.

You can go back to the sullen-faced puzzling over which point of view to use after that single concession. I said for you to glory in being a writer. I didn't say to be a tormented Russian writer.

Now, go write something. I will.