Everything we do is meaningless, yet we must do it anyway*

I read this article the other day about what it takes to be a writer. The author’s theory is that the twin luxuries of money and time are the magic ingredients that divide those of us who dream of writing books from those of us who actually write books.

She’s probably right. If all of us aspiring writers had the money to quit our day jobs (and retreat to a private beach house whenever we are feeling stuck), we would probably finally put aside the excuses and write something.

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