When the Green Goblin Rears its Ugly Head

I know it's Saint Patrick's Day, with all of the green, the pinching, the blarney...

But I couldn't resist writing about something else green, something horrifyingly green that often comes my way - the thing could even be me.

Why is it that we, as writers, get so emotional about stuff?

Why can't we simply live our own lives without taking other people's stuff on?

Why is it that we get angry so easily, and feel as if we're being picked on while we're writing?

Maybe you're not like me. Maybe you don't go green when family members are bugging you when you're trying to write. Maybe you don't get angry because you're picking their stuff up yet again, even though it's their stuff, and every moment you're picking up their stuff, you're not able to do your job.

Maybe they don't understand that this writing gig isn't just your hobby, and that you have every reason to get emotional when they don't see it that way.

Heck, you're at home, why can't you stop writing every few minutes to talk to them about their day? Why does it hurt to get interrupted? Why can't you take care of their stuff?

It's because our writing is as important to us as your outside job is to you, or your schooling, or whatever you are doing that's important in your life.

We try not to take our writing for granted and neither should you.