Writers are strange people.
Perhaps we’re not even people at all. Few people can create an entire world from nothing. Something as small as sixty-five words can turn into a 70,000-word novel without trying. But are we human if we’re gods of our own worlds?
We are sometimes quiet, sitting off to the side. Some of us never speak, but we write our opinions—our voices—down on paper with ease. Every time isn’t easy, but it’s worth it in the end.
We are strange, different, and magical. And maybe not fully human.