You don't have to be traveling afar to send postcards to people 'back home'. You can be a pen pal and write to people around the world. You can also join groups like PostCrossing. "A project that allows you to send postcards and receive postcards back from random people around the world".

But, what do you write on a postcard, especially if you aren't traveling, seeing new places and faces?

You can write almost anything, fairly short to fit on a postcard. Introduce yourself. Write about some interesting thing you did, or saw, or heard about. Write about your location - whatever image your postcard shows. Ask questions about where they live - you have their mailing address so you at least know where they live.

Don't assume you have nothing interesting to write about. If you are traveling and sending postcards home to family and friends you certainly have new things to make note of. Silly things that happened along the way. Something that you did or heard, smelled, touched, watched, or tasted. What do you think about the places you've seen. What would your family/ friend like to know about: history, hobbies, different customs, sports, food?

If nothing else, just write about your day. A postcard can be a snapshot of your day, your adventures, your ideas.

Don't forget to use good penmanship. Postcards are usually hand written. Although you could try out mail art, someone still needs to read or understand what you write.

What could you write about if you were sending a postcard today?

I've had this idea for a couple of weeks. Just the idea of a robot left with a zombie sort of creature. Zombie is so over-used so I didn't use it. There is no plot really. It just moves along until I stopped writing.

It was loud for so long I didn't notice when it became quiet. The wounded continued to gather. I did what I could for them. It wasn't enough, they moaned always, but didn't complain. My owner mingled with them all. Often I had to search to sort him out from the crowd. I didn't miss him asking for my services and the service I could give now seemed to make very little difference to him. But, you understand, it was a contract I was built to honour. What is death... no heart beat but still mobile with brain activity. So I stayed.

I didn't need much myself. A sunny spot to recharge without being bumped into. Clean water was harder to find. There were rivers, streams, even skimming from deep enough puddles. As the crowd of wounded migrated around I'd have to find water where I could. I liked being clean. Fresh changes of clothing were easy. There were so many empty places to restock clothing supplies. Of course, I didn't need food. A little touch up of fluids which I could find in wrecked or abandoned vehicles. I carried some steel wool for those odd spots that would get a touch of rust.

We seldom encountered what I cam to think of as fresh people. Some of those were wounded too but, not the same. They would run from the wounded crowd. I'd have to be vigilant and not get in harm's way when they attacked the crowd. I didn't help the fresh people, even when one would notice me, see that I wasn't one of the wounded, and try commanding me to attend them. I was under contract and that hadn't changed. Besides, they just wanted to use me, my services, and I wasn't interested in providing for them.

My life, I think of it as a life, would have gone on that way forever, or a very long time at least. But, one day I noticed the quiet. Not complete silence. There were still moans from the wounded, the odd wild or feral animal, wind blowing, all of those sounds. The overhead noise from bombs, rockets, airplanes, and all the war mongering was gone. I stopped to listen and waited for it to continue. It didn't.

What did it mean? Did people run out of things to throw at each other? Did the war run out of people to keep throwing things?

The wounded didn't notice, but they weren't very aware of much at all. I began to wonder if there was anyone left to communicate with at corporate headquarters. Could I find someone to talk to? I tried. I'd find a location with a bit of height and search for signals, even the old radio waves. I would hear fresh people talking, but no one I could report to and get updates from.

I wasn't easily surprised but the day the androids came... I was extremely surprised. There was no sign of them and then, there they were. A pack of them, assorted sizes, functions, and state of repair. My people! I decided my contract with my owner was null and void. The first big decision I had ever made for myself, about myself. I was nervous as our group moved away from the wounded. But, most of them didn't notice, just kept moaning and wandering. I did say "good bye" to my owner, to let him know I would be gone. It seemed polite.

The biggest problem with writing comedy or humour (for me) is trying to be funny. Chances are, when you actually try to be funny you don't succeed. Humour tends to be impulsive and it works best when it isn't expected.

The funniest stuff isn't someone having an accident or getting hurt. Pain and suffering are not funny. Though people will laugh when they are nervous or upset. Is that really the kind of laugh you, as a writer, are looking for?

Humour works best when it takes us by surprise.

Writing may be the loneliest profession. We begin alone with a blank in front of us. Alone, we must come up with something from inside our well of experience, knowledge, intellect to fill the void and create something which someone else can enjoy and understand. You may never literally bleed onto a page (outside of papercuts) but we do leave something of ourselves imprinted in everything we write, non-fiction included.

No wonder we get writer's block. Writer's burn out. Writer's run dry and writer's can lack inspiration. Writer's can lack motivation too but often the necessities like bill paying and the onslaught of a deadline will help with motivation.

Is there a Cure for Writer's Block? Are you so stuck you can't imagine writing another word? Ever?

Of course not. You can write as easily as you can read. So write a grocery list. Give it a spin. Write something else ordinary next.

After awhile you'll be itching to write something less ordinary again.

What do you do when you can't find the inspiration to write?

I've thought about changes to the structure of my story and how I use narration, or don't use it all. Should I change the point of view to another character? I've thought about great ways I can mess up a character who has become too good to be true. I've written about how I feel about writing in notes to myself. I'm making an effort to vary sentence length in fiction and non-fiction - something I was working on but forgot about.

Every writer goes through a dry spell. We all need to have some inspiration at some point. It helps all those times we are alone, sitting with a blank, empty page in front of us, depending on our wits to fill it with greatness.