Most of my life, I’ve focused on being a writer. Since I was a teenager, I’ve wanted to write science fiction and fantasy. And then I struck very early success with playwriting, and that became a part of the dream, too.
All I’ve ever wanted was to be a writer. And I’m realizing, that was too narrow a focus.
Please pardon the tangent, I know this isn’t like the rest of my blog. But it’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Almost obsessively, you could say. And in that way, it kinda fits.
I ran into a writer friend last night and he asked me how it was working as a writer, and I told him it was great. Which it is. And then he asked, well, what about your writing? And it gave me pause.
I told him that I’m not doing much writing outside of work, and he got this incredibly pitying look on his face. He told me that I was out of the game. Which seemed…. flat out ridiculous.
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