That quote seems strangely applicable today. I keep trying to think of something to blog about but my skull is making this high-pitched buzzing noise that leads me to suspect some sort of insect has been trapped inside and may or may not be eating its way through my gray matter in an attempt to escape the House of Horrors that is my brain.
Or it may be because I edited for three solid hours yesterday and managed to get through 90 pages of material.
I only got those three hours in by going to an indoor park and letting my kids run wild while I sat on the couch and wrestled with The Sequel. Near the end a woman I vaguely know showed up and wanted to chat, even though I informed her I was working. And, after having had to explain to her what I was doing, show her my book cover, and talk about how hard it is to squeeze in work, she smiled and closed the conversation by saying, "It's so nice you have a hobby."
At which point my head exploded.
Because here's the thing, guys. This is where you switch from having a hobby to being a writer. The mind-numbing, hour-after-hour, please-I-don't-want-to-do-this-anymore-let's-just-watch-Arrested-Development-on-DVD-instead, how-on-earth-is-writing-this-much-work stage. Anyone can write a book. Everyone who wants to should. But it's only when you put in the work (and make the sacrifices, and give up your social life and your sanity and occasionally lower your personal grooming standard) to take something that was fun and make it into something that is good that I think you cross from being a hobbyist to being a writer.
Writing is WORK. The best work, sure, but work nonetheless.
I didn't, however, explain this to the woman. I let out a snort of a laugh, smiled, and went back to work. Because I am a writer, and that's what we do.