I've often read that writing is a solitary profession. That's fine with me; I'm not very sociable when you get right down to it. I do well quite on my own, thank you.
But this week, I have learned another reason why writing is a solitary profession--project managers who drive you insane. I'm working on a series of books for whom a designer is serving as a project manager. He has determined how many words are to be covered in a chapter based on his ability to get cheap photos. This means that some important material gets briefly mentioned while other chapters may turn into basically a chronology because he can get photos of concerts, appearances, whatever. He's done nothing but complain about what I have or have not included in my books--not how they were written, just whether the text as submitted fits his design.
Yesterday, the guy drove me to tears with his complaints--mostly unjustified. If I had been with people, I would probably have scared them I was so hurt--and angry. Fortunately, I won't have to deal with him anymore. The person with whom I am contracted is going to deal with him. At least she realizes she's not paying me enough to put up with his garbage.
There is some solace in knowing that I am not the only author incurring his abuse. That doesn't make what he's doing right, it just helps me to realize that it might not be personal.