What’s in a name?

It’s hard to think of yourself as a writer when the words are coming in stuttering drips and drabs, in awkwardly formed sentences that feel clunky and sound wrong. It’s hard when you haven’t sold anything in the genre you really want to work in, when you’re always tied up with this or that and you keep telling yourself that’s why you haven’t been writing anything to sell.

Lots of people have day jobs. Lots of people write anyway. Lots of people have depression, or anxiety, or a stupid burning need to stick too many fingers in too many pies. That doesn’t stop them. They write every day.

It’s like an itch under my breastbone, this feeling–I can’t scratch it. No matter how hard I scratch or how I tear my skin. I stutter and the words won’t come out right and I wonder if I’ll ever really be an “author.”

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