TenTonHammer.com - Taking MMO Gamers to the Next Level!

Slow news days SUCK.

And because of that - trying to keep within the three sacred G's that have defined this column over the last few years (Geeks, Games, Gazongas) is often a daunting task.

Too personal and it really *IS* a blog.

Too technical and you lose the humor.

TOO geeky, and well...you lose the chicks, which effectively turns this place into an online version of "Coyote's House of Sausage".

It is actually a rather difficult blend, and on a slow news day when there is nothing to cover, nothing to write, and nothing to talk about, it is frustrating as hell.

...

....

And I would give anything for that right now.

Instead, I'm here and writing this: the one thing in life I hate more than ANYTHING.

Good-byes.

So why am I leaving, really?

Because I'm going to be 35 in just over six months.

When I was 9, I won "Scholastic Books Young Writer's Competition" for a story I did about monsters being too afraid to sleep because of humans under their bed.

One moment I'm just sitting there in Mrs. Jensen's class, rushing through my geography assignment (HA!! What does THAT explain?), the next: A bunch of delivery guys start hand-trucking in box after box after box of cool school supplies.

Yes. COOL School Supplies.

When I was a kid, things like "Trapper Keepers" were new and exciting and to see dozens of them, along with books, games, and a special "Writer's Kit" just for ME being delivered in front of the entire class...

...I felt like a king.

Here were people, interrupting class and handing out free stuff to all of my classmates because of something that *I* did. I felt proud, I felt confident, and Michael "Squints" Palledorous walked a little taller that day.

But above all else, it was at that moment, that day that I realized that I wanted to be a writer.

Because writers got free stuff.

And while I've had some moderate success, and have written in many mediums for a large number of projects - I still feel like that friend who thinks he can write, but sucks horribly, but you still tell him that his horrible poem about the "Meaning of Love" is amazing, even though he uses the word effulgent in rhyming verse.

I don't want to be THAT guy.

I want to be writer. A REAL writer. Not a computer technician who freelances, not the waiter who is really an actor, not someone with a dream that they never chase - but a WRITER. A real, professional, "Look it says so right on my income taxes" writer.

And writing daily, while amazing practice and a perfect outlet, has taken away every last bit of my free time. More work went into this than I'll ever let on or admit, but writing is keeping me from writing...

...and I know that I have a novel or twelve in me.

So that's the quick (ha) of it.

And while I will miss this more than you suspect, and I'm honestly second guessing the decision, (Hehe. This is a pretty cushy gig. PLUS, chicks send me boobie pictures.) I feel that it is time to leave on a high note.

I'm burning out, forgetting jokes I've already made a dozen times, and honestly just running out of gas. You deserve more than just canned humor, and I owe it to myself to chase a dream while I can still run without the assistance of several burly orderlies.

But as I go, I want to say thank you.

No humor, no jokes, no jest.

Thank you to everyone who has ever read this column even in passing. A writer without a reader base is like a porn set without cameras. Sure, there is still action going on, but only those involved in doing it get to enjoy it.

...

Okay. I just wanted to mention porn.

But still, the sentiment is there: Thank you.

Thank you for reading, thank you for your support and encouragement, and thank you for making me constantly feel like that 9 year old boy who left his Writer's Kit on the playground during recess and had it stolen that very day.

There are no real goodbyes, especially since I've been asked to stay on here at Ten Ton Hammer to work on the "Ten Ton Turnip" project. It is a weekly piece with a bunch of contributing writers, that will allow me to keep writing a tiny bit, (To stop would be insane. After almost 3 years of 10k words a week, I'd go INSANE) and maybe not instantly fade into obscurity like I fear that I will.

So thank you all for everything you've done, and everything you've encouraged me to do...

...and until we meet again:

Are those NOT some just AWE INSPIRING JUGS?

-Coyote