There are times when I’ve written nothing substantial in weeks. There are times my only word hurling happens between the college-ruled lines of a $.70 notebook. It’s times like last night when I go to visit a friend to find him typing away manically at an 11 or 12 page story that I wholely notice that I’ve been writing next to nothing. There are times I wonder if I only consider myself a writer because I can’t think of anything else. Certainly isn’t because it’s easy.

These are those times.