If you want to be a writer–and lord, so many of us do, even when we ought to know better!–you could do a lot worse than to read this piece by Kameron Hurley.

Writing for me was never an act of courage, an act of defiance, an act of…well, much of anything. I suppose it was an act of cope. I wrote because that was what I did. When I had no hope of ever making money on my first real novel, I still wrote it anyway, because what else could I do?

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