1. I created it and like the miracle of childbirth, it somehow shoots out of me through a seemingly magical process.
2. I am overly invested in it. I worry about it to the point of sheer agony. It is a major source of stress in my life. I’m not sure how it will turn out. Anything the writing says or does reflects back on me.
3. I am willing to sacrifice everything for it. All of my other non-writing related desires find their place on the back-burner, and I’ll wonder where my time went. When writing is around, I will forgo socializing and hibernate at home. Looks? What are those? Once writing is in my life I can put on a pair of glasses, throw up my unkempt hair, and forget that make-up exists.
4. I am overly sensitive about it. The slightest criticism of it immediately sends my body into mama-bear defense mode. I have to tell myself that the criticism will make my writing stronger.
5. I feel like it is the greatest source of meaning in my life. When it says something clever or cute, that’s all I want to talk about, and I wish everyone could experience how it makes me feel. I just feel so proud of it, but in reality no one else gives a shit. Some probably roll their eyes in annoyance and think, “Shut up, Anna!”
Suddenly Satori 