Two weeks ago today my first book was published in print. Why were people so much more excited about the print edition than the Kindle one?

When am I going to go back to work? Other than whether I've finished my novel, it’s the most frequent — even unrelenting — question I get.

The first time I shared the novel, I was shaking like a leaf. I felt exposed, any and all insecurities glaringly brought to light.

Annie Dillard comments, “Appealing workplaces are to be avoided.” If that’s true, my month in Barcelona is off to a horrible start.

“Doubt is the Devil!  Show doubt, and he’ll be back!” A week ago I woke up with that quote resounding in my mind. The message could hardly have been more timely.

His question was an obvious one. Curiously though, it wasn’t one I recalled ever having been asked. I had to pose it to myself before I could give him an answer. Why do I write?

It was baffling.  All the more so because it kept happening.  How could people — friends, family, and even total strangers — speak with such confidence about my having “done it”? 

That's how a potential editor began our second conversation, after she had read the first 25 pages of my novel.  She then proceeded to eviscerate each and every one of them.