It’s sort of funny:
When I was in college, I had this group of friends that was, for the most part, comprised entirely of English majors. And every one of them, as you might imagine, wanted to write a novel; it was just in their nature. Our nature. Before we graduated, the majority of us had begun what we all believed to be our first “great work,” the novel that would bring us into authorship, free us from the shackles of the nine-to-five and usher us into the pantheon of some of writing’s greats.
None of those works panned out (to my knowledge). Writing’s hard, telling stories is hard, much less telling stories others would like to read, and much much less telling ones they would want to pay money for. Speaking for myself, I wrote what I thought would be my ticket, the book(s) I’d be working on for years to come.
But it wasn’t. (more…)