I’m a writer. When I publish a book, I’m an author. And by golly that’s something to roar about. Not everyone understands the issues writers overcome in order to give the whole world a little glimpse into their soul via a published manuscript.
During the course of writing my last book, Wifey and participated in approximately 23 visits to assorted medical doctors, and at least 600 trips to the grocery store. I probably mowed our front and back yards 36 times each, hauled three pickup loads of wood chips from their dump site to our gardens, cut up and hauled away two oak trees downed by straight line winds, and dug about nine holes for various reasons.
And what I’ve described is only the tip of the iceberg. A lot of life stuff occurred during the course of writing my last book. Some of it expected much of it unexpected.
I’m no different than any other writer, and wear the same cloth. Silent battles, when won, yield extra sweet rewards. I’m working on another book now; I write every day.
Yes. When it’s published, you can bet your bippy I shall roar.