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.