So you probably could have chosen a career with a bit more glamour.
At least office workers get perks, like company coffee and discounted dry cleaning service and Labor Day off. At least factory workers get the whistle to tell them it’s alright to stop working, go home, and stop being factory workers for the rest of the day. And for all the frustration and child-sized abuse they take, at least schoolteachers have a plan, a lesson plan. Right?
Yesterday I wrestled, nearly all day, with a work-in-progress that just will not unroll the way I need it to unroll. It keeps circling back to the beginning, throwing tantrums (or was that me?) whining and beating its fists on the floor. Because I am a writer, when I put my laptop away, the wrestling match continued in my brain, on Mute, for the rest of the night.
But here comes the fun part of being a writer, the reason why I do what I do: The very last conscious thought I remember having before finally dropping off to sleep last night, after a full day of writing the same 500 words over and over again, was This is how to finish that piece. I got it.
And to a writer, seeing the way forward through a work in progress, a way that shows you exactly how you can say what you need to say, and be proud of the work you’re creating, is one of the best feelings there is.
And that is why we write.