You know what I mean.
Day after day we labour over text, reading and re-reading it, editing, making major plot changes, reading it again… We don’t complain because we love it. The sound of the tap tap of the keyboard, the roll of the mouse roller thingy as you read the paragraph you just wrote, the triumphant feeling that accompanies “Chapter Three” which means your story is well under way. It is exhilarating.
All that writing piles up in the drives of your computer (I have two 1 Terabyte drives attached to my computer) collecting bit dust because you’re to afraid to show it to another person. They’re thieves out there!! Ghost writers looking for ideas for their next book prowl the intertubes looking for unsuspecting idea mills. Other writers with deeper pockets and more time take… take… take… with no mention of the source from which they took! Editors prepared with whitewashing tools in hand wave threateningly at all your POC characters. It is a scary place out there!
And yet we sit and still write.
What do we hope for? Are we looking for something to occupy our time?