From my author’s notes on Waiting
…the writer’s circle of light… it’s located in the middle of winter at the back parking lot. With winter’s subzero snowflakes floating all around you—our private little hell. That is what it is like to be a writer. We live out in the hell’s frozen back parking lot, at least that’s how I view writers, we’re the forgotten and forlorn. Sure some of us get to wander in from the cold, but not many.