"Didn't you use to write fiction?"

Okay, okay. So I've wandered astray of late. Alright, of late meaning the last few years....

I admit, I have been dabbling in a number of non-writing-related pursuits -- xiangqi (Chinese chess); Koine Greek; Hebrew; figure drawing and cartooning; brushing up on my Stoics, Taoists, Buddhists; studying the history of Hip Hop and learning to freestyle; rereading all my favorite poets; Italian wine regions and varietals; using Netflix to catch up on 20 years worth of missed TV.

You get the idea. Everything but writing.

What woke me up and propelled me back onto the path of literary prolificity? (Yes, I know prolificity is not a word. I am coining it. Just like prohodiation, meaning to do things today, rather than procrastinating and leaving them for tomorrow -- cras is Latin for tomorrow, hodie is Latin for today).

Hm, good question.

I keep having dreams in which Edgar Allan Poe and Ernest Hemingway stop their Greco-Roman wrestling just long enough to throw shade in my general direction, hurl an anathema or two, then roll back off to Elysium.

I don't know why, but the writing bug -- or in the short term, the editing/publishing bug (neither of which is resistant to antibiotics) -- has returned. It just has. So I guess I'll be saddling up, riding out of Dodge and galloping back onto the printed page.

SO LONESOME I COULD DIE will be the first to see the light of day, followed by a vast array of half-vast, unfinished projects that will have to battle it out for their seat on the down-bound train.

I know. You have questions. As do I.

Be patient. There's more to come. I promise to keep you posted. :-)