Every writer wants to write, sure. But frankly, what every writer really wants is to be published. To be read. And after publishing over a dozen stories between 2015 and 2017, it was really difficult to pull up stakes and wander into the dark woods alone, essentially taking 2018 off from the short form, knowing it would mean no new stories for at least a year, and maybe more. And it’s scary, and dark, and frankly damn lonely in those woods. Bring a light.

The question then becomes: How much abuse am I willing to take in order to have a publisher or an agent? How much of my self-esteem is up for grabs in order to crack the publishing marketplace?

Is this a writing culture thing?

Is this “just the way it is?”

Is this – God help me – normal?