Writing seems to be about 90% psychological and 10% craft. I mean, setting a consistent schedule and sticking to it seems to be more of a hurdle than what you produce. As a reader, I can attest, there are some really awful books out there. I remember picking one book up at the library a few years ago and when I sat down to read it, I couldn’t get past page two, it was so horrible. Just bad writing, period.

But, someone along the way thought enough of it. He was published.

Either you’re all in or you’re bust before you ever get to the table. There is no part-time writing. And writing has never been more isolated an occupation I think than today. Before you had to find an agent. A publisher. An editor. You had to meet with people face to face. Now, anyone with a computer and an internet connect can write, edit and publish a book without once speaking with another soul. There are no more gate keepers. Just last week one of my non-fiction books was purchased by someone in England.

I don’t know anyone in England, have never been to England, and I never dreamed my book would be read by someone living there.

But, that’s the way it is now, and I have to say I kind of like it. There are few occupations, apart from an eremtic monk, where you spend the bulk of your day in solitude.

For an introvert, it’s an enjoyable lifestyle. For an extrovert, I’d imagine it’s a bit of a drag.

Edited 1848 words on In the Meadow.