There’s this folk tale, which is quite popular.
It tells of writing as a toilsome activity, built on pain and suffering.
Putting words on the page, we are told, is soul-draining and cruel.
And yet, ah, what can a poor artist do, when his muse, or daemon, or whatchamacallit, pushes them forward mercilessly?
And of course this is just so much rubbish, of the kind usually used by posers trying to get a free pass by playing the always popular part of the tormented artist.
On the other hand, there is a bad side to writing.
And I don’t mean the aching hands and the bad hours, the meager returns and the leery attitude of those that have “a serious job” like, for instance, gerbil farming. Continue reading