Every morning after I turn on the computer, I look out at the sun just coming up over the apartment building across the street. I tell myself, you are writing for yourself, you love being inside the world you are writing in, nothing else matters. It’s the only way to counteract the little voices asking me why I do this, every day, despite the multitudes of rejections that fly in from everywhere. It’s because It’s what I do.
You have to love being inside of what you write