I’ve decided. It’s insane to be a writer. Really. It takes over your life.
It keeps me from making my bed and getting the dishes done. I plan my life around critique groups and writers conferences. I check my email more often than I wash my hands. It’s crazy.
It changes the way I read. I can’t just enjoy a book. I analyze it. What was the author thinking when he wrote this? What makes this dialogue work? What clues did the author plant to help me solve the mystery, or throw me off the track. Why does this setting feel familiar? It’s nuts.
I’ll let you in a secret. The real reason I write is…. (drumroll, please) I write for the money. NOT. I hope you got a good laugh out of that one. After careful (not) calculations, I have discovered that I make about ten cents an hour. Or is it five cents an hour? It’s bizarre.
Why the heck do I write,then? Just because I love it. I can’t imagine doing anything else. It's Unbelievable.
I am crazy. Crazy about words, crazy about writing, crazy about books. Crazy.
Don't you agree? Only a crazy person would write.