I believe I’m back from my writers’ block. I don’t know if I’m ready to edit/rewrite Gaia’s Hands yet, and I certainly don’t feel like writing one of those two books I have on debt (Hands and Gods’ Seeds). The former would require me to go to Poland for a few months, and I don’t have the time or the translator.
But I’m a writer, and I can’t escape this, even if I don’t get published. Even if I feel bad about the fact that I don’t get published.
I hope there are other writers out there who need to hear this: If you set paper to pen regularly, if you see stories out the window of the cafe or in a crowded cafeteria or on the street, or even in a collection of ants on the sidewalk, you are a writer. The world is yours to create with, and even if nobody else has seen your work, you are indeed a writer.
Words Like Me 