Ah, writers. Such a strange lot we are, living in both the real world and one of our own making. All trying to master a craft no one completely understands.
We're driven to do it, by passion, by a burning passion, by a fictional character that won't let us go. It's hard, pulling that fledgling idea out of our minds and growing it into a book that will transport someone to a new location for a few hours. It's hard, but we love it.
Then once we've done the hard work of writing, we open ourselves up to the criticism of others, the risk of failure, and the pain of rejection. And we do it over and over again because to not do it would cause something in us to cry.
Sometimes the burning drive becomes too much. So many artists suffer needlessly in the name of creation until the monster becomes too much to control.
Even the sanest among us lose ourselves in our work and have to be drug kicking and screaming back to the real world, no matter how much we love that real world.
And then one day it all seems worth it. For a glowing moment you have achieved it all. Until you realize that publishing your work is just another way of opening yourself up to the criticism and rejection.
But right now, I'm still glowing over the fact that I have an editor and she's retweeting me. If you missed the announcement about my first book, you can read it here. At the bottom is a link to my email list so you don't miss anything in the future.