Congratulations for making it past the worst blog post title in history. Well, perhaps not the worst, that would probably be something along the lines of - no, sorry, not going there. Anyway, it's at least a runner-up for least creative blog post title. However, this blog post is actually about writing. Writing being what I am doing right now. Writing being what I do late at night after everyone else is asleep. I've discovered that I really enjoy writing.

Let's rewind an hour or two. I was over on Twitter, where I've got a modest following of about 300 people - most of them following me as a result of an ill-conceived Amazon giveaway I ran last summer. Anyway, there I was, trying to cram a large thought into 140 characters that would actually be interesting enough for someone to click one of either two icons so others could bask in my grand statement of wit and wisdom. So far, that tweet is just out there, flappin' in the breeze.

Then I headed over to my Facebook page - not my personal page where I try to get people to donate to my various charity races - but my author page where I try to get people to buy my book. I'm not doing so hot in that regard. That page has 113 or so likes, but I'm pretty sure I've sold less than half that many books. Regardless, I was thinking about posting something there, but I didn't want to overwhelm the Facebook audience with a long post that would clutter up their news feed and make them either mute or unlike my page. I have a very fragile ego.

Finally, I remembered my GoodReads blog. What a perfect place to post a longer message about writing (so long as you're not expecting anyone to actually read it). So here we are. Welcome to my second blog post.

So why am I writing this? Surely it wasn't just to talk about the process of trying to decide where to post this. And no, it's not. My last tweet partially summed up what I wanted to communicate, albeit poorly. What I want to talk about is how much I enjoy writing.

Well, duh, you might say.

But no, hear me out. God knows I don't do it for the fame and fortune. That's not even why I started writing Renaissance Spook in the first place. If you've followed my social media accounts, listened to my interview on The How The Why podcast, or just generally know me, you know that I started writing Renaissance Spook as an outlet. It was basically cheap therapy, sitting in a coffee shop, coming up with the first few chapters and the general story arc. Trying to redirect some of the shame, anger, and insecurity I was feeling after getting let go from my second law firm in as many years.

After a while though, what started in broad daylight as therapy, surrounded by others, evolved into a late-night me-time ritual. I turn the lights off in the office except for the three lava lamps, set my iTunes to play any number of my downtempo electronica playlists, and then I wait. It doesn't take long, maybe thirty seconds or so. But then it hits. The butterflies. I get butterflies thinking of how fun it's going to be to just sit down for a few hours, by myself, and write.

The coolest thing about writing - or at least the way I write - is that I'm constantly surprising myself. As my poorly-formed tweet tried to convey, it can be more fun than reading. Why? Because unlike reading a book where you can usually tell where things are headed, sometimes things fly right out of a dark corner of my brain and end up sending things in a completely different direction.

I'd like to give you an example, but I don't want to give away any spoilers. What I can say, however, is that I've been developing a plot line over the past two nights that didn't even exist before the sun went down yesterday. New characters, new locations, and all just from my overactive subconscious.

I also like to write because I like when people read what I write. I love it when they like what they read, but I know not everyone digs my style (if you dig this style, then you'd probably dig Renaissance Spook if you haven't already read it. If you have read it though, and you did like it, do me a favor and give it a review on Amazon (sorry for the sales pitch here) - really. More than selling books, I like to see the increase in the number of reviews. We've been holding steady at 10 since last June, and four of those are from my wife, my mom, and my aunt (who rated it twice).

Back to the theme of this post though - I like writing because I'm creating something. Even this stupid little blog post has been fun to write. Will anyone actually ever read it? Who knows - maybe my mom and my aunt? More to the point, who cares?

The other night, as I sat down at the computer and waited for the butterflies, I found a saved stash of old blog posts from my old PyrzFamily.com website. They all dated from a four-year stretch between 2003 and 2007, and I'm not sure a soul outside of my family ever read them. Also, back then I called them my "Rants." Probably because "blogs" weren't really a thing yet - or maybe they were and I just hated the word. I still kind of hate the word, but not nearly as much as Vlog. Back to the point though, I read each of those Rants from start to finish. I was able to trace my journey from happy-go-lucky (naive) law student, to a bitter, self-hating attorney. I was also able to relive those moments, and what caused me to write them down.

So, yes, now that I'm a super-cool "published" author, like so many in the unwashed masses yearn to be, the experience is slightly different. However, the fact remains that the process itself is worth probably more than the final product.