Mostly because everyone seems special to me. But I bet you’re a great hearer, even if that word doesn’t exist.) I don’t even know you and I can tell you’re special. (Unless you are listening to the audiobook, in which case, I guess you are a hearer? Is that right? That seems like the wrong word but I can’t think of the correct one right now. But I can’t stop, because writers write always.
Shiny and edited and pasted together with the tears of copy editors whom I have sent to an early grave and/or multiple bars. You, on the other hand, will only see the finished product. Some people write a book a week, but I’m achingly slow and filled with self-doubt and writer’s block, so by the time you read this I will have gone through years of “WRITING IS SO LONELY AND I HATE EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE.” I will have gone through the writing period when I tell my husband that real writers write drunk and edit sober, and then later the editing period when I tell him I have edited this notion and have to write drunk and also edit drunk, and even the period where I just lock myself in a room and force myself to write and it’s glorious and beautiful until I wake up the next day and realize it’s garbage and delete everything. By the time you read this it will be an actual, fully formed, and probably horribly offensive book, but at the moment I’m writing this it’s just a bunch of sentences, paralyzing anxiety, and a lot of angst. You probably just picked up this book thinking, What the shit is this all about? And frankly I’m right there with you. Jenny Lawson, Full-Grown Mammal: An Introduction
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