I should let you all know that I'm unemployed now, which in writing terms is known as "available," "in development" or "drunk." #hireme!— Nina Bargiel (@slackmistress) January 2, 2013
When someone says they want to be a writer, what they mean is "I want to sit on my ass daydreaming and then someone shows up and offers me a million dollars to write my screenplay/memoir/one-man show."
At least that's what I mean.
The cruel truth to writing is that you have two modes: writing and panic. Sometimes you go through both at the same time. What no one tells you about writing is that no matter how long you do it, this doesn't go away. Unless you're Woody Allen, but I'm not completely confident that he's human.
Of course, we don't like to think of it this way. Our favorite writers sit at the keyboard, stringing together letters to form words to turn into books or movies for us to fangirl over. The writers we don't like don't do any work and are handed blind pilot deals and screenplays and memoirs and it's so unfair because they're not really funny and I made that joke on Twitter three days ago and no one starred it and it's all a popularity contest.
But it's work. It's all work. The writers you love work just as hard as the writers you hate. Every single one of them is sitting at the keyboard, wondering what to say. Every single one of them faces a blank page. Every single one of them success or not, panics about what's next.
Because every time you finish, every time you put the final touches on the screenplay/novel/memoir, every time it's done, you have to start over. With the blank page. Again.
I wrapped my last show (season 3, Consultant, House of Anubis) and here I sit, facing the blank page. I have stuff in development (real development, pinky swear) but now's the point where the regular paycheck has gone away and the panic sets in and I take a deep breath and sit down at the computer and start something new. Again.