The thing is, I'm trying to be a writer.  I read stories and novels and I watch movies, all the while deconstructing them.  I read articles and books and blogs on writing.  I discuss writing with (a sparse few) others.  I do everything I should be doing as an aspiring writer except one thing.

Writing.  Lately, I don't really do any writing.

In my defense -- and this is the flimsy justification I often use on myself, with little success -- I have a day job that bleeds away a lot of my energy; and when I have some free time, I find myself using it to relax and recharge my batteries for -- that's right -- another week at work.  Or I spend time with my family, which is something I should not and would not give up.

I've completed one screenplay, and that one went through three drafts.  I've done nothing to try and get it sold.  Nothing.  Zip.  I haven't even spent any time researching HOW to go about selling it.  It just sits there.

I've got two other screenplays:  one on draft two, the other on draft four.  I know what I want D4 to be -- I've watched it in my head a hundred times -- and I know most of what D2 should be, though it's a comedy and will probably be a steeper mountain to climb.

I've got another idea for a screenplay, but all I've done is a mental outline.

I've even got an idea for a ten part Kindle serial, based on a novel idea I've had for almost a decade.  It was originally going to be my first novel, my prize, my magnum opus.

And then, there's the novel I'm currently working on.  Eleven months ago I pledged that I would have this one finished, edited, proofed, and up on Amazon (for Kindle) by Thanksgiving (that's three weeks away).  Most of the 45,000 words I've finished so far spilled out of my head in the first eight weeks; since then, it's been slow going.  Glacial.

What's wrong with me?  Am I not committed?  Do I not care anymore?  It can't be that I care more about the day job (even though it's providing food, clothing, shelter, paying bills, and covering most of my daughter's college tuition), and it can't be that I'm trying to achieve the unachievable.  I'd like to think I have the talent to pull this off, and I'd like to think that I don't need to hole up in some isolated resort somewhere -- away from the world, my family, and Wi-Fi -- to actually get it done.

I'd like to think a lot of things.  In the end, I'd like to think that I can -- no, that I will -- write a book.