THE AGONY AND ECSTASY OF BEING A WRITER
For me, writing isn’t something that I do. It’s what I am. I am a writer. I love it. It’s my breath and I was put on this good Earth to do just that… to write.
There’s nothing better than carving out characters, giving them life on paper and then seeing them published for the world to enjoy.
To see them grow from a barely there idea to a fully fleshed out story, there’s something pure in it.
Something other worldly.
I’ve had numerous short stories published over the last couple of years, and there are a few more to follow in 2013. I somehow fell into writing erotica and haven’t looked back since. I love it, and usually ramp up the tension by putting a thrilling edge running alongside the erotica.
I’ve been told I have a very forceful, almost staccato style of writing. Perhaps it’s because I’m born on the fourth of July. I’m fiercely independent, and so is my writing.
It’s as unique as my finger print.
That’s what I believe anyway.
I have been writing ever since I can remember, and there’s nothing in this world I’d rather do. So the goal is simple—to become a multi-published writer who earns enough money to do it full time.
That’s the ecstasy.
But at the moment, I’m in agony.
How do I know? My best friend asked me how I was feeling, and I replied, “Sad, I’m feeling sad and I don’t know why.”
“You’re sad because you’re not writing,” she said without missing a beat.
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’re spending eight hours here, at work, when you should be fulfilling your soul purpose.”
It was like a lightning bolt of realisation.
I’m sad because I’m not writing.
But I have to pay the bills. A long spell of unemployment a while back has me working the nine to five… and honestly, I don’t mind (have you ever tried to live on £120 Government Assistance every two weeks?). I want to work; I need to work.
But how do I stop feeling sad? It’s like my soul is crying out because it’s missing something.
It’s missing writing.
But how do I write? When do I write? I’m so exhausted after work, its dinner, bed, sleep, work, and repeat five days a week.
The weekends are spent catching up with the house work and simply getting my breath back.
Then Monday morning hits.
So, dear reader… have you been through this? Do you have any advice you can offer? How do you balance the world of work with the universe of your writing? How do I achieve the greatness that you know you’re supposed to achieve and pay the bills in the mean time?
I’d love to hear your thoughts, your tips for finding balance and doing what you love.
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