"A person is a fool to become a writer." -Roald Dahl

I woke up this morning to the above text. It was from someone who has been trying to get coffee with me for months now. We were never close, but he was unexpectedly supportive during the initial stages of my book-writing endeavor. "Don't think of it as writing a book. Think of it as writing a little bit each day. You'll be done before you know it," he would tell me. At first I was confused about his interest in my personal project, especially given that he wasn't a best friend or family member. Then he told me about how his dad always wanted to write a book but was distracted by running his business and taking care of his family. At some point after his kids were out of the house, he lost his way. This guy started to take care of his dad. "Now he's starting to write! For the first time I can remember," he told me, "That's why I care so much about your book. I don't want you to end up like my dad."

Sixteen months after that conversation, I am in the final stages of crafting my first novella. I have always wanted to call myself an author and now that the opportunity is almost mine to take, the only thing I am calling myself is a bad friend.

As I sat in bed reading and rereading the text message, I thought about the friends that I've neglected over the past several months. Ones that really care about me. There are a lot. I remembered that one of them had a birthday on Wednesday. I forgot to wish him. He read three separate drafts of my book.

Whether or not you've ever attempted it, you can probably guess that writing a book is not easy. Over the months, I yelled, I cried, I hated myself, but with the optimism that this was worth it. What I did not anticipate, however, is that every single aspect of my life would be hard when I was writing a book -- not just the writing. This is because I began to feel that every moment spent away from the keyboard was time wasted. Ironically, when the support of friends is what I needed most, I was unwilling to spend any time with them. Time is of the essence. Too precious to "lose." To make myself feel more social, I occasionally attempted to make plans with people when I knew they were busy or that they would likely flake.

In February, I had friends over to my apartment to watch the Grammy's. You should know that I am miserably out of touch when it comes to movies. My friends enjoyed my ignorance more than the awards themselves. "Yeah, Ro doesn't watch or read anything. She just wants everyone to read her stuff," one friend said as what she meant to be a joke. It was a knife to my heart, which had sunk into my stomach. But there was some truth to her statement. Sometimes you need to force your craft down people's throats. Especially when your craft involves a dying interest like reading.

In April, one of my best friends visited San Francisco from New York. She was spending the day with a group of our mutual friends and I was in a coffee shop writing. She called me multiple times and I kept responding that I would come over "soon." I made no attempts to leave my computer. I finally made it to dinner, after which I decided to go home while the rest went out to the bars. "Seriously Ro? What would you do if you visited New York and I told you at 11 PM that I was going home to go to sleep?" I felt miserable but also knew that I needed to wake up at the crack of dawn the next morning to write. With work and my commute swallowing my weekdays, I only really had two days to write each week.

Aside from having an awesome name, Erik Erikson is known for identifying the seven stages of development that define our lives. The first stage of adulthood is intimacy versus isolation. This is the period in which we form long lasting platonic and romantic relationships. It says that we must love to feel loved, and those of us who don't form long lasting relationships will feel isolated.

Two weeks ago, I finally broke. I called a friend practically in tears. After being mugged, I just felt so alone. The only entity keeping me company over the prior weeks had been the draft of my novella, but at that moment, I couldn't bring myself to focus on writing. I only wanted for a friend to come and sit with me in silence. But I didn't even know who I could call. Part of me wished that someone would read my mind. But for those tracking my pattern of rejecting social invitations over the past several months, why would my friends think that I suddenly wanted their company? "I know it's not true, but I just feel like I have no friends," I told her. "It's not all your friends," she reminded me. "It's the ones you have been pursuing. The ones who you know don't have the time for you." I knew she was right, but couldn't help but recognize that they probably feel the same about me.

While difficult, there is nothing special about writing a book. Getting wrapped up in the act is no different from allowing ourselves to become consumed by work or some other activity. We give and get all our energy from that one thing, typically at the expense of our family and friends. They will understand. It will be back to normal when this is over. My friends will always be there for me. But we shouldn't just place them "there" on the finish line. We should bring them with us along the way.

My book is officially dedicated to my grandfather. He knew I was a writer before I knew. I will never stop wishing that he could be alive to read it. My book is unofficially dedicated to all of my friends who have stuck around. I am hopeful that they will read it but more than anything, I feel lucky that they are still in my life.

I have chosen July 4 as the official release date for my book. It's no coincidence that it falls on Independence Day. I am looking forward to it as the day that I break free from my novella. That I gain back my independence. And my friends.