A Writer Writes
This is what my dad used to say to me when I was growing up, sitting around scribbling stories in a spiral notebook or typing on an old typewriter. It's true, A writer does write. Even if you see one walking around, they are still taking things in, scribbling things down on a mental notepad for use later.
Things like that old ugly couch your husband had when you first moved in. Yeah, I did that! That plaid couch forever commemorated in a character's living room. That funny thing that your mom used to say. Maybe it's the weird guy that works at the grocery store, inspiring some trait in a character in a book. You just never know.
So we walk around in a cloud, deep into the created world that we scribble on paper. Characters that are not just characters to us, but real people that live in our heads until we type those words the end on the bottom of the last page of the 70,000 word manuscript that we have talked ourselves out of shredding more than once.
So what happens then? You have to send your work out into the big, bad world of editors and publishers, beta readers and critique buddies to scratch all over it with a red pen, hoping that they don't hate it. You push your little baby out of the nest out into the world. And you wait, and wait, and cry, and want to give up when rejections come piling in.
It only takes one. "we loved it." Then you are forever changed, your dream realized. You sign on the dotted line, crying with joy.
Then you pick open up your computer and start the process all over again, because that's what we love. It's what we do, because a writer writes, always.