Great little diddy by Mack Moyer about how awesome it is to be a writer in today’s age. Oh wait, did I miss the point of his message?!?
**Mercurial amounts of cussing below. Proceed only if deaf or blind (or preferably both)**
Writers are predisposed to depression. Perhaps all artists are, but writers likely suffer it worse.
The reasons are many. It’s tough to make a living off writing, unless you’re a creative writing professor, but even then you’d probably be better off working grave shift at Taco Bell when I’m shitfaced and screaming for a Whopper, simultaneously trying to tell me that I might want to try Burger King and maybe next time I should wear pants.
Then there’s the reality that musicians and painters get laid more and are thus happier, but I’m married, so forget I even wrote that.
Ah, the image of the depressed writer.
We often conjure images of Stephen King slumped over his typewriter, high and drunk, drooling on the first draft of Cujo, or Clive Barker staring glumly at the rows of nipple clamps that are likely lining his desk, wondering why the Hellraiser movies…
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