I just caught up with posts on Clarkesworld. There is a long essay over there about loving writing and hating being a writer by Rick Bowes. It’s a lengthy piece about the World Fantasy convention in Sarasota Springs. I particularly identified with this paragraph:
[Via: Clarkesworld Magazine]
I came late to being a writer, or at least the kind who wrote stories and books of the sort one could publish under one’s own name. The first SF novel I wrote was acquired when I was forty. Though I’d read SF and fantasy for most of my life, I’d never belonged to any fan organization or attended a convention until I sold my first book. It was much too late for me to fully enjoy being a writer because I’d stopped drinking.
** The title of this post comes from the essay…