Sometimes the internet is just a small town filled with stalkers and voyeurs. You follow one person from blog to blog and talk to all of her friends on their blogs. And, bam, you know each other. Or at least you have a vague idea of what each person’s writing voice sounds like. Sometimes you even know what people look like and what their names are. (I assure you, my name is uninspiring and I look way more bad-ass in your head.)
But sometimes you nosy sarcastic stalkers are pretty fucking useful. For example, I am ready to sit at my desk and, as you say, finish the fucker. I thought I was a real writer because I had an MFA and could string together some pretty words/sentences. When everyone else complained that they couldn’t write or couldn’t figure out how to begin, I thought smugly about my MFA or my pretty words. I wasn’t one of those.
But I was. I was not sitting down and writing consistently. I was resting on my laurels. I was not putting in the hours. And now, my lovely stalkers, I am.
Now get the fuck off the internet and write!