“So they opened their big mouths, and out came talk. Talk! Talk!”

This line is from one of my favorite movies, Sunset Boulevard, when Norma Desmond (played by the brilliant Gloria Swanson) decries how the talkies killed silent films and sent “faces” such as hers, into obscurity. Too much talk can also kill your writing.

How many of you have ever been at a party and told someone that you’re a writer? How many times did at least one person reply, “Really? I always wanted to write a book but never had the time.”

Someday I’ll be brave enough to answer, “Gee, I always wanted to do brain surgery but never had the time.” But let’s face it, I’m a wuss.

The more we talk about how we want to write a book, or how we just can’t seem to get into the characters, or whatever, the more reasons why one shouldn’t call oneself a writer. A three- to four-inch thick pile of paper that constitutes your manuscript is the real deal, baby.

And so I don’t look like a hypocritical snot, I’m signing off to revise chapter 12.