Writing is a notoriously bad life decision if one has goals of either financial security or sanity. Kafka worked in an asbestos factory to pay the bills. Jack London sailed to Alaska to join a gold rush, where he developed scurvy and lost four teeth. Cheryl Strayed was a New York Times bestseller and on a book tour for Wild when…

When you’re working on something unconventional, something creative and uncertain, it can be disheartening to feel like you’re not producing enough, not getting the numbers, not earning the money. And where is this thing that you’ve been spending all your time on, hmm? It doesn’t exist yet. Will anything tangible come of it?

Bookstores! The smell of paper. The piles of stories. All the great authors pressed tightly together, spooning on the shelves. These are some of the reasons that you’re be more likely to find me in a bookstore than a bar on a Saturday night.

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