I'm in an odd way of it at the moment.
Some of y'all--but not the majority--knew me back in 2002, when I was writing consistently. I got together with my abusive ex-fiance late in that year, and left Washington State in early 2003 to be with him. Writing brought the two of us together, but the longer we were together, the more he satobaged my dreams.
I was pretty messed up when I broke up with him. Problems with my prior relationship didn't help matters, though most of those were due to trying to make an impossible situation work. I got back, kind of, to writing last summer, but that was short-lived, as depression, job-hunting, etc, interfered. (Actually, I've had trouble with situational depression the past three autumns... hopefully can avoid that this year. At least in 2002, it didn't completely derail me.)
When I left Washington, I was very confident. I believed that my dreams weren't out of reach, that I could achieve them. That confidence faded with time. I attributed it to grandiosity.
"Sure, you might get published, but you won't manage anything substantial. Besides, you should get a Real Job and stop playing at Pro."
No, I'm not a professional writer in that I can support myself on my writing. I'm a professional in my demeanor and attitude; I'm a professional in my outlook; I'm a professional in that I have made a pro-paid sale.
When I was having so much trouble with the fibromyalgia after I moved here, I came to the conclusion that I likely wouldn't be able to hold a job, so started working on the writing again. Thing is, supplements and such that didn't work before seem to be working now, to the point I haven't had to take a pain pill in three weeks. (Except the half ultram I took for a bad toothache, and that doesn't count.)
Morgan and I have been talking. I've been like, "If I'm not in so much pain that I can't hold a job, then I really should start job-hunting as soon as we have the car on the road." His attitude ... rather surprised me. He would understand if I wanted to get a job, but I don't need to; finances have been tight recently because of the unexpected $1700 vet bill that needed to be paid in full that week. Otherwise, things may be a bit tighter than both of us would prefer, but it's not going to kill us or cause problems for me not to work.
He's stated his preference--he would rather me not work. Not to stay at home and cook and clean or shit like that, but to write, to pursue my dream in a way not open to him.
On one hand, I want, with all my heart and soul, to dedicate myself to my writing, to pursue my dreams, and be everything I know that I am capable of.
On the other hand, I should get a job. I should be bringing in money. I should do this, I should do that.
I'm sick of "should"s. They've ruled too much of my life. But it's hard to take that step.
It's hard to have confidence in myself after so long. I know my work is publishable. I know Stronger will sell, especially after I finish the rewrite; it may take time to place it, but it will sell. I know the short fiction will sell, too.
I have an opportunity that so few writers have, but so many long for, but I'm afraid to take it. I'm just ... afraid. And I don't know why.
Nonny Blackthorne wrote at 11:29 AM
