Many writers live with the dream of writing full time. They go to jobs they hate, and shuttle kids around, and then with the tiny bit of energy they have left, even if they have to eat a frozen dinner and turn their spouse down for sex, they write.
[Editor’s note: strong language after the jump]
They want to get to the point so they can replace their current income so they can stay home and write full time.
My situation going into this was both a blessing and a curse. I didn’t have an income to replace. ANY amount of money was going to be a boon. I’d had 33 jobs, and that taught me that unless the other option was dying in a ditch, I probably wasn’t going to ever successfully work for another human being. Another thing… they’d all been Mc-Jobs, basically. Crap jobs that didn’t pay well. In fact, the highest paid job I ever had paid $300 a week. That’s not a hard income to replace with… almost anything.
So even though I’m in my sales slump, I find myself hopeful. I’m still making money. I’m still making more than I ever made at my Mc-jobs. And I am working hard on releasing new work, under more than one pen name, so it’s not just one book I’m working on. I’m working on two.
I spend a couple of hours writing a couple thousand words on one book, then I spend a few hours doing edits and rewrites on Save My Soul. After I finish work for the day I sit back and think… I’m a working writer. No, I’m not yet where I want to be, but I’m working on it. I’m working toward that goal. This is my job. This is what I do to make money. I’m writing full time.
And I’m finally WRITING.
I’ve cleared out much of the emotional clutter. I’ve seen my sales ranks start to dwindle from not having my backlist built yet and I’ve buckled down to work and create and shape words into something to entertain someone and to pay me money.
Fuck the drama. Fuck the idiots. I don’t sit in a cubicle every day. I sit in my bedroom with my laptop in front of me, making stuff up all day. I’m creating and controlling my own work. I’m making money.
There is no better feeling than that.
I’m doing exactly what I wanted to do when I was a little kid. Sure, it has taken a different form, in the form of self-publishing… but my childhood dream was never to “have a NY publisher”, it was to hold my book in my hands, make money writing, and have people reading me. All things I’ve done and am doing.
Most people grow up and put aside their childhood dreams to work building someone else’s. I didn’t. That’s worth celebrating and being proud of. Sometimes I get so focused in on goals that are so far away that I don’t stop to smell the roses or truly appreciate where I am right now and how lucky I am to be there.