There are times where I question whether or not I'm a writer.
After some analysis, it's obvious I am. Recently, at PAX South, I found myself repeatedly standing in line with my manuscript draped over one arm, a set of three pens settled precariously between my mouth and hands, editing the last 100 pages of The Faithful. I'd done that multiple times, but no one asked me about (I guess not that strange) and, at some point during the conference, started having a personal crisis as to whether or not I was a "writer." Only after some reflection that I realized that of course I was, but since I wasn't writing at that point, it felt like I was living a charade.Read More