There's nothing sexy about being a working writer. It's a job that doesn't demand much from me; I don't have to worry about intermittent grooming, hideous eating habits, or acting like a sane, responsible human being. It's a job, in other words, for an immature adult with impulse control issues, deeply held grudges, and a penchant for foul language. It is...the perfect job for me.
That said, occasionally there IS something sexy about the gig. Last week my publisher flew me to New York...
Published on March 25, 2010 14:55