Four years ago I decided to
change careers. I had this amazing
opportunity not afforded to others and I felt compelled to take advantage of
it.
I wanted to be a writer.
I wanted to write books, see them
traditionally published, and become rich and famous.
Laugh all you want. I knew the rich and famous part was a lark
but this is where the “amazing opportunity not afforded to others” comes into
play.
I get a comfortable, monthly,
retirement check. It allows me to fiddle with this writing life. HoneyBunch
says it’s a curse. It makes me too
comfortable. I don’t have to rely on a
paying job to cover bills, go grocery shopping, or keep myself in pretty,
purple pens (my writing instrument of choice).
He says I am not hungry enough.
Between you and me, HB is only
half right. It pains me to admit it, but
there is more to that truth – I am afraid to succeed.
I have several published friends
and I’ve seen the glamorous writing life they lead. It takes discipline to be a published
writer. It makes demands on their
lives. I’ve seen what they look like as
deadlines approach – their emaciated, unwashed, myopic bodies.
No, thank you.
If I launch my manuscripts out into
the cold cruel world, they might actually succeed. I’ll get offered contracts. There will be demands and deadlines, missed
meals and lost sleep. I will have to work and work hard.
I will have to produce, stand on
my own, and face criticism.
My life is so much more
comfortable here in the womb of retirement where I can pretend to be a writer
and play act the writing life.
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