Ive often since wondered what it is about the writing life that is so thrilling. Writers are often paid scraps. We lose sleep, have bouts with migraine, drinking and depression, and forced to work in solitude most days. The social life of present-day authors rise no higher than a Twitter post or a Facebook comment here and there. Plagued with doubts (save for the amazingly egotistic), writers often risk debilitating insomnia and that all-too-familiar jaunts to the darker realms, however fictional these may be. They wreak havoc on relationships, on the practical side of life, on the daily and mundane efforts to stay afloat. Hell, they even get in the way of intestinal health. But for those touched by the word, no other existence proves life-giving. Its the only disease where the cure can lead to death.
Posted on: Sat, 23 Aug 2014 03:18:11 +0000