Let's all wear turtlenecks and smoke pipes.

There are a number of people in this world who think, based on wishing alone, that they could shoot a round of golf as well as Tiger Woods. There are probably a thousand times that many who believe that based on wishing alone, they could play golf professionally and make a living at it.

If for no other reason that there are a hundred times more types of paying gigs, there are probably a hundred times that many people who think they could make a living writing all day.

They’re all fools. If you found yourself muttering, “that’s me” while reading the above, you are quite obviously deluded and should probably down a fistful of psychotropics and go back to work at your law office, fast food joint, or college library.

I can say that, however jokingly you take it, because I’m one of those delusional Walter Mittys. Or at least I thought I was, until I actually thought about it while writing the 117 words that precede this sentence.

Key point of distinction: those people don’t want to be a pro golfer or paid author because they’d be fulfilled necessarily or because it’s something they’d love doing regardless of pay 24/7/365. They aspire to it because it beats the job they’ve got, and it’s made to look easy and rewarding by the most skilled folk that actually do those jobs for money.

So, I’d like to think I’ve got a leg up on those people, because I'm fairly certain I'll be writing (and enjoying having written) for its own sake for the rest of my natural life. And so are my colleagues, A.J., B., and T-Licious. Watch us as we actually form a writer's group.