Part of being a writer is feeling like a failure at least five times a week. I don’t think it matters if you’re a successful writer or not. Your work is out there, in the public domain, being judged. I’m not sure readers realise how much of themselves a writer puts into their work, but it’s akin to having a small part of your soul on display. You’re offering up the deepest parts of yourself, and they can feel exposed and raw.

Writers have to develop a thick skin just to survive the battering of reviews. They can’t write something to every reader’s liking, and sometimes the reviews can be mean. Gone are the days of ‘If you can’t say something nice then don’t say it at all’. There are a billion trolls out there that don’t care if they shatter a person’s confidence with degrading words and mean-spirited comments.

So why keep writing if there’s the risk of getting hurt? It’s the nature of the beast. I don’t write because it’s a passing fancy. I write because I must. I write because it’s an incendiary need that eats away at my insides. I write for the fear of exploding should I not let the stories out. I write for the readers who pester me to write faster. I write for that feeling I get as a reader, when I finish a good book, and pray that someone out there feels that way about something I’ve written.

I write because I love it.