Funny thing. We finally got around to sending out year-end letters to friends and family, and for many of the news items we noted that the reader could find more details by visiting my website.

At around the time as we started preparing the letters, I stopped posting to the website. Which means that if anyone has been visiting my site of late, they've found nothing new except lame wishes for a pleasant end of the year.

It hasn't been for a lack of things on my mind. There's been more than enough subjects I've been wanting to comment on. The current bribe scandals unfolding in both houses of Congress, the continuing nonsense being referred to as "Teach the Debate", the idea that I should make up some New Years Resolutions, parallels between the war in Iraq and the Spanish-American War, the status of the Patriot Act, and possibly the most profound recent event, Jessica Simpson's pending divorce*.

No, it's been fear. All writers occasionally bump into a block of some sort. Some find themselves daunted by the blank page. Others find themselves bereft of ideas. Still others are thwarted by the internal censor. "No, don't write that. You could get into trouble for writing that." Therein lies my own block. The internal censor has been my bugaboo.

The internal censor has been warning me lately not to dive too far into the issues that touch upon religiosity. Don't want to offend any of my family or friends who feel passionately about their beliefs (or disbeliefs).

Likewise, because I find myself simply overcommitted with work and family commitments, I am not taking the time to be as well informed on contemporary political issues as I would like to be. So my internal censor cautions me against political punditry lest I make a fool of myself.

The problem has not been confined to my blog -- although, certainly there are many topics I'd like to present to you that discretion dictates I make just a wee bit less public than this House of Cards. But private and semi-private means of communication are also proving to be a challenge for me these days.

Having occasionally been chastised for being too informal in my dealings with clients and coworkers, I often find myself writing e-mail messages complete with very direct communication about how I feel regarding a certain course of action, only to delete that message and write something a little less forthright. (This kind of self-censorship might be referred to as "maturity".) This is probably as it should be, but it fits as part of a larger pattern: it has created a habit that has extended to my online journal entries. I've got about five posts I've written that currently reside in my content management system in "draft (unpublished)" mode because, after writing them, I thought better of making them public.

I'm on several listservs where participants have practically begged to be slapped upside the head, but after writing my little rejoinders... I delete them and simply let it go. Better to let someone else do the e-slapping, and take the resulting heat that follows.

What the hell is that all about? Who am I, and what did "they" do with the real me?

Someone on a listserv I'm on checked out this website after I'd mentioned that photos of Alexander and Nolan appear here, and they were kind enough to say that I'm "interesting." How messed up is this -- I've been afraid, ever since, that I might post something that is not interesting. The internal censor again:

"Dude. Don't talk about your 'Solipsist Manifesto'. It won't be interesting enough. No more baby pictures! They're not interesting enough!"

So, yeah. My writers block has been fear -- the Internal Censor that kills with a thousand paper cuts.

Okay. Now that I've admitted my insecurities, let's move on. At least I've posted something. I'll leave the task of posting something *interesting* for another day.

* By way of apology, I should acknowledge that anyone who reads this entry more than fifteen minutes from now will wonder who Jessica Simpson is (or was). Sadly, I'll have forgotten by then, as well.