Because if you don’t, why should anyone else? Stop beating your chest already, Mom doesn’t count. You must love your work, really love it.
You know what it’s like to be in love. It keeps you up at night, makes you sleepy during the day, and distracts you constantly with saccharine quotes you think you made up all by yourself. It’s all you think about. You write his or her name on every paper that drifts before your hands and press it into your peanut butter sandwich. You whisper a name in the quiet stacks at the library, if you still go, but it isn’t John or Suzanne – it’s the secret name that only you know: the title of your tome. You drag your finger in X’s and O’s down the damp window glass and peer through the tinsel marks, seeking your lover, your work in progress, on the other side. You answer the phone in high anticipation and then drop to a disappointed tone when it’s someone else who speaks. Want to buy a vacuum? Want to order a subscription? Nooooo – You want something but not what they’re offering. Your heart pines – all you can think about is writing. (more…)