riting is hard work. You’re probably thinking, how can that be? How difficult is it to put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard and so on? Can’t be harder than digging ditches, caring for the ailing, working with the disabled? But you’d be wrong, in my opinion. Not to say that the aforementioned isn’t worthwhile and even, noble, far from it. Or that writing isn’t necessarily a noble calling, either. But there is a straighter path to completion in most other pursuits, a clearer path to the goal or objective. Writing is often opaque with no clear trail and no obvious direction. Writing is often nothing short of sheer, unadulterated frustration. It calls on and taxes all of your resources, mental, psychic, emotional and even, physical. It is also not work in the traditional sense, i.e., getting paid to perform a task or provide a service. The vast majority of writers earn pennies or less per hour committed to the task. I can’t think of another profession where its members would put up with such penurious conditions. In fact, I’ve been laboring over this short piece, wondering frenetically where it is going to go, how much time I’ve committed and why I’m doing it in the first place. Exactly. That sums up the writing life rather neatly, I think.
