Writing is local.
If you’re sitting at a desk, or in the coffee shop, or under the weeping willow tree, tapping on the keys and trying to make your artistic vision one with the blank, mocking page—you are a local. If you have handed your work to someone and in return they have reluctantly given you a wrinkled piece of whatever currency spends successfully at your grocery—then you are also a business.
A cottage industry, no more, no less—akin to a potter, or wheelwright, or cooper or blacksmith, whether there is an oak tree or not in the area. You are an ink-stained wretch, grubbing for whatever shekels you can gather.
Writing is global.
The Internet may have hastened the process and broadly increased its extent, but laying words on a page to influence minds has always promised a worldwide audience.
J. K. Rowling has charmed people from pole to pole.
Stephen King has given universal willies in dozens of languages.
Dr. Seuss redefined whimsy and entertained children around the world.
Write what you know, but write what you think people should know, wherever they are and whoever they are.
Even if you are writing in a cottage.