I'm not sure where my blog went. One day I was jotting down notes for future entries, the next day I had nothing to write. There wasn't an idea left in my head. Not so much as a brain scraping.

A few weeks ago I managed to get back to work on the seventh Byzantine mystery novel for the first time since last spring. I think that's what did for the blog. Solving murders in sixth century Constantinople is more interesting than my day to day routine. Making things up is easier than trying to wring yet another drop of interest out of my own tedious and nondescript existence.

What more can I find to say about the cat sitting in my lap while I type? If I were writing a book, the cat could sprout wings and fly away. Fiction's more fun than nonfiction.

A lot of aspiring novelists insist on writing badly disguised autobiographies. That's an urge I can't understand. If you're allowed to invent anything you want, why not take full advantage?

Not only have I been remiss in my blogging, I have failed to mention the sixth issue of Dave Burton's Pixel. In addition to gleanings from this journal, the magazine features the usual intrepid contributors, and having a bit of a science fictional slant (including a column by sf author and editor Ted White) may be of interest to many of you who used to read this blog, when I bothered to post.

Now I shall have to go away and try to come up with some ideas.