Wanna write? Memorize this message.
It all begins that way. You write.
At least you write if you call yourself a writer. If you are one of our rare “just readers” readers, at ease.
But if you call yourself a writer, write.
I called myself a writer since I was six, when I decided when I grew up I wanted to write novels just like Enid Blyton’s. I filled several exercise books with (frankly appalling) children’s adventure novels, before I graduated to (frankly appalling) science fiction and mystery. Somewhere there in my late teens I realized I didn’t have enough world-experience to write good novels or even short stories that sounded real, so I wrote short shorts that were moral and preachy (and apparently could have won a Nebula, if I’d been writing them in English) mostly from the countercultural side because that was all the rage in the seventies and I was a…
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