Since I wrote my first book, I’d had this sense of what a great privilege it is to get the chance to write even one, let alone more.
Sure, it’s a frustrating, hazardous, poverty-inducing, sometimes ego-crushing business. But most people will never get the chance to try. The working life, the commuting life, family life; life: all get in the way.
This privilege means that if you do get the opportunity, I think you shouldn’t let it go to waste. You’ve got to get your thing out there. You can’t leave it hanging around in yourself somewhere. If you do, I think you’re wasting your time, playing the dilettante, not taking the thing seriously.
It reminds me of what Arthur Koestler said once, somewhat harshly,