I'm about to share a big secret with you. I could get in big trouble for doing this, but here goes.
is this Clubhouse for Writers. That's right, a Secret Clubhouse.
Inside, writers have lots of wine and cheese and chocolate truffles.
They compare notes on how many awards they've won, dash off brilliant
manuscripts with one hand while the other is being manicured, and dab
their brows with advance checks that have lots of zeroes on them.
Adoring fans who totally get their work and remember all the minor
characters' names buzz around, asking brilliant thought-provoking
questions. Oh yeah, and there's a Jacuzzi.
But one writer is not
invited to the clubhouse. That writer stands barefoot in the snow,
seeing the lights and hearing the laughter from afar. Shivering. Batting
off attacking adverbs and slogging through a plot that has developed
pointless tentacles. Wondering how those other writers seem to have it
so easy. They all know each other, they get the buzz, they never cry
over a chapter that goes nowhere. They never get rejection slips.
I think most writers suspect they are that lonely writer out in the snow.
And here's the real secret:
There is no clubhouse.
if there is, I don't know about it so I must be the one out in the
snow, and you? You're totally fine. :-) Have some truffles.)