While struggling with snowboarding, I once tried to find out how it was better than skiing? Apparently, it's because it's cooler.
Where am I going with this? Well, I have a confesssion to make. You see, I'm not a real writer. Fraid not. Real writers love to write. They get up early, chug out two thousand words before breakfast, spend the morning thinking about their characters and plotlines, and then sneak in an extra five hundred words during lunchbreak.
Me? I decide to sit down and write, and immediately get up and start looking for something else to do. Anything on TV? Anything on the internet? Any bills to pay? Toilets to clean? Yup, anything that needs or doesn't need doing gets slotted in ahead of writing. So how is there cover art in this post about a book that will be published in two weeks with my name on it? How come I recently finished the first draft of my next one? (And how many questions can I fit in one paragraph?)
Well, because I dreg through my willpower and force myself put a word down, then another and so on. Why? Because I'm good at it and have stories to tell. And because having a novel with your name on it, how bloody cool it that?
I've never been the cool kid. So, I beg of you--never tell me it's not cool to be a writer. I'll have to take up snowboarding.