This is the part of the process that people don’t know about.
I have, my entire life, dreamt of a certain kind of relationship to writing. I want the one that we see in movies—writers who are nestled away and writing like their life depended on it, full of passion and inspiration.
Or, they are stuck in the rut of not knowing what to write, hair a mess and clothes a bit bedraggled, but still looking the cute writer they always were. They are staring out a window, distraught and pensive, and then it happens—the book gets written, all is well, and the writer still writes.
But that’s not the reality I live with my books, and if you ask other authors, it’s probably not their reality, either.
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