My brain has gotten lazy when it comes to writing. It's because I've fallen out of the habit. Flowery prose does not come as easily, my cleverness is a slow-wit half-breed, and my storytelling lacks Ooomph.

The only answer is to practice.

At night, my imagination runs wild: strange dreams, many of which are too sexy to publish here, prove my creativity is alive and well. Translating that creativity into a viable, entertaining article or story may be a dream in, and of, itself.

I'm not saying that I've got a Wizard-Of-Oz caliber story to tell, nor does Something-Wicked-This-Way-Comes seem to be in the offing.  I know from reading that many career writers spend months, even years, tailoring their stories and perfecting their craft.

I can't expect to write the Great-American-Kill-Bill in a single night.

Based on the readership my blog(s) have recruited, I don't yet have the audience necessary to make millions. But I have discovered that the only audience I really need is myself. NOT that I don't want an audience - but applause is for actors and book sales are for those career writers who simply have more time than I do.

Recently I was told that if I have to say, "That was a joke," then it isn't funny. But I say, if I laugh, then I'm funny, and to hell with everyone else. Sometimes humor is about letting myself in on the joke.

If I took the time, I'd frame out my story - start at the beginning, and know where I am ending. Decide how I'm getting there. Work on character development, setup a back-story, imagine a setting, design a hook. Is my process missing anything? Oh yeah: ideas.