I can hear life. No, really. That whooshing sound I hear when I work late, only to get home and write for a couple of hours? That's the sound life makes as it's whooshing by.
OK...no, not really. But it seems that way sometimes. I got home from my "day" job last night at about 9:00, and then spent as long as it took to get my 1000 words in, and got right back up and back at it at 5:30 this morning. Hey, it's my life...somebody's gotta whine about it. *whoosh* See? There it went again.
Every discipline has its "gotta swim the moat to get to the castle" times, it seems. As a teacher, I had to take whatever classes got tossed my way till I got some seniority. As an Army butter bar, I had to put up with a couple of years of being a butter bar. It doesn't take reading too many authors' biographies till you realize that nearly all of them did what I'm doing...writing despite one, or sometimes two, day jobs that kept them away from family and pillows.
But it's the dream. And yes, it's the money, but it's not entirely the money. I know there's a decent chance I'll never make much of anything. But I also want the opportunity to call myself a "published author."
And...can't forget...I've also blogged numerous times about the fact that writing for fun is, well, fun. It's really very enjoyable to sit and spin this story, despite the fact that it's a multi-week process that takes me away from other things for a matter of time. In all honesty, I wouldn't have gotten this far with it if I didn't enjoy it greatly. So my whining, then, really is just empty whining. I could quit. But I won't.
So...for what it's worth, keep all this in mind if you, Gentle Reader, ever decide to write a book...the next life you hear whooshing by might be your own. And next time you pick up a "first novel" of somebody's, think of all the times that person heard a "whoosh."