Katrice’s Reviews > The Award > Status Update

Maybe I’m not a writer because I write, but someone who writes to become a writer, if that makes sense.

Maybe I’m just doing this because it’s the only thing I figured out how to do, because I could write well enough to try. But there’s always fear, lurking. What if I’m going through the motions?

Once someone has read a book, or even just held it in their hands, the author of the book takes on a mystique, even if the reader had never heard of them before and would never hear of them again.

People who don’t know writers are always interested in them because they imagine something genteel. Writers, more than other people, are sociopaths. They turn ruthless on a dime. Especially the good ones.

I did toy with writing, to be honest, but I lost my confidence along the way. I found that creative failure is a hole that only gets bigger once it cracks open.

Only among writers did having a job qualify as gossip.

From the beginning of time, after all, writers had written to share what was possible in life, not what was irreparable. Nobody ever needed to memorialize the coldness of life to know it.

People never understood that writers did not really want to write; they wanted to have written—a sentiment misattributed to a dozen famous authors throughout history, none of whom actually wrote that, but no doubt felt it.