It was four in the morning and I was trying to finish my manuscript. I couldn’t sleep because the images in my head were too alive. It was still and quiet, except for the music from my headphones. Suddenly, I just realized how alone I was.

This is a typical life of a writer, isn’t it? Being alone in the small hours, typing at the computer, wishing there were someone who could hear the voices in your head, and keep typing until your back hurts even though you don’t know whether people will care about what you write.

Yes, writing is a lonely job. Still, I chose this job.