Because writers write

Now I have two books in development. Last week I talked about my next collection of blog posts. I’m still organizing that one, but now I have given myself permission to take another collection off the back burner.

For three or four years, I have been tinkering with the idea of accumulating my thoughts about writing into a book, which has always had the working title Write anything until you write Something.

A couple of things held me back. First, there are oodles of books about writing; what good would it do to toss another one into that ocean? Second, I have published 17 books, and the next one to sell as many as 100 copies will be the first one. What can a writer with virtually no sales offer readers?

Recently I have returned to an old habit that I had been neglecting, a habit that is essential if a person wants to be a writer: I started reading again, and especially I started reading books about writing and the creative process. Last year I read only 31 books — it had been years since I averaged less than a book a week — and then I read only five books in the first four months of 2026. What especially got my attention was the zero books I read in March, but it took me another month to overcome the inertia.

I devoured five books in May and finished a sixth on June 1. This week I’m three-quarters of the way through a revisit of Elizabeth Gilbert’s wonderful book about a creative life, Big Magic, and Friday morning my brain exploded and I wrote the introduction to my book about writing.

Goes like this:

How dare I write a book about writing? Nobody has ever heard of me.

That’s not the point. I am a writer. I have been writing all of my life, and my life has been long by many standards. I have been alive longer than my father’s mother, longer than my older brother, and longer than my dear wife, all who were older than I was when the count began.

My point is that I was writing that whole time. I never stopped writing.

Because writers write. It’s our whole purpose — not to be famous, not to go down in history, not to make best-seller lists, but to write — to explore the infinite ways that words can dance, to find joy in the interplay, to delight in the play, to play as a child plays in the dirt, to make mud pies with words, to make the words sing with or without a melody.

To write anything until you write Something.

And once you’ve done that, to keep on writing.

What I concluded after 50 years in community journalism

I spent a half-century in community journalism, at small-town radio stations and newspapers, and I met thousands of people. The vast majority loved their hometowns and just wanted to do something good for their families and communities.

Oh, I met my share of slick politicians who had an agenda, but I met many more who had a heart to make the world a little better for their efforts.

Many people who get a regular look at the dark side of human nature start to see the dark side as the norm, concluding that people are just bad at their core. There may be some truth there — some of the best people I’ve met agree that we have all sinned and certainly fall short of the glory of God — but every day and everywhere, I have seen people fighting to be the best version of themselves.

My conclusion after 50 years of observation is that the good people outnumber the phonies and the sociopaths, and it’s not even close. We cheer for the success stories, we support those in need, we grieve for the departed, we love our kids and most kids are good kids. I’ve seen my share of creepy and evil people, don’t get me wrong, but they are a tiny fraction of those thousands of people I’ve met.

Episode 2129 — In which I declare a summer of action

I am tired of yielding to the entropy.

I am tired of sitting in this chair wishing I would get out of this chair and move.

Today I will move.

Today I will walk. Soon I will run.

Today, between now and sunset, I will build and dig and plant and work and play.

This earthly vessel will be put to use in the service of God and my fellow humans and the other creatures who inhabit this space.

We are all designed to protect and serve, and we must not delegate those obligations.

I am not a man of few words. I have made a lifetime of crafting words. Today I begin to put words into action, beating swords into plowshares.

What shall I do first? It hardly matters. There is much to do, so I shall do one of those things that need to be done, and what follows will be in no particular order.

Yes, it would be useful and efficient to make a plan, a to-do list of priorities and protocols, but I don’t need an action plan as much as I need action.

Summer has begun. Let it first be a summer of love — no more irony and mocking, no more anger or hate — no more amorphous promises that won’t be kept. Let it be a summer of action. A summer of growth. A summer to secure the future. A summer of meaning.

And what is that meaning? Need you ask?

A summer to love God. A summer to love my neighbors, and yes, everyone I meet is my neighbor.