Book writing is the worst, and thus best, example of the agonies of writing. I’ve written four books and a short e-book, contributed signed and ghosted chapters and edited a few dozen books by other writers. This has resulted in headaches, nightmares, depression, weight gain, back spasms, a tweaked neck and so much more awful.
Well, here we go again.
Everything that professional writers say about the anxieties of trying to make a living I cannot question. I have never been there. I imagine that it really is enormously stressful.
But when they talk about the actual act of writing in this way, I just cannot understand why they keep doing it. As for me, I have published a dozen books, hundreds of articles, thousands of blog posts – and I like it. I like it a lot. I keep reasonable hours, I try to avoid uncomfortable positions, I work hard to stay on schedule so that I don’t find deadlines looming above me. If I found the actual act of writing that horrifcally miserable, I would either change the way I went about the task or I would find a different job. These people make writing sound more physically challenging than being an itinerant farm laborer or a steel-mill worker. I just don’t get it.