If you follow write what you know literally, you are going to severely limit yourself as a writer.
There was never a time in my life I wasn’t making up mad tales and then eventually putting them to paper, where my love for the idea turned into a love for the words themselves and then the craft and then combination of all three.
What would I be if I wasn’t a writer?
I have no idea.
To speak to an uncomfortable truth, I often don’t trust my own memory.
I have a Faulkner quote hanging in the top right corner of my vision as I sit at my desk, and it’s come to be something I live my life by.
Writing is wonderful. It’s like playing God, sculpting worlds, forming new people from nothing but your fingers against the keyboard, giving life to the two-dimensional creations of your own mind, weaving spells of love and pain and the whole spectrum of human emotion. I love being a writer, but that’s not why I do it.
Because I am a mad scientist writer with my hand in several pots all at the same time, I need to be organized. Really freaking organized.