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road small

Back when I started this merry dance, all I needed was a pen and a sheet of tablet paper.  For years, that was enough — and it was also enough that I was the only one who read my stories.

Fast-forward through time: the manual typewriter my dad bought at a yard sale.  Then, a little electric typewriter.  Word processors ranging from useful to brain-killing.  And, finally, a computer.  And the World Wide Web.

“Simple” is no longer good enough.  These days, writing brings with it the need for a professional-grade cover.  A website, a Twitter feed, a Facebook page.  A mailing list (which, at present, has no members).  I’ve gone from a readership of one, to a readership several hundred strong, from something like 20 countries around the world — yet by many people’s standards, I’m not a success.  Those people tell me I have a long way to go, and that I need to work my butt off for every inch I gain.

But the storytelling is still the same.  It’s me, in a quiet room, listening to my imagination.

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