Off My Chest…

docbrite wrote about one of my biggest pet peeves today.

I’m not anywhere in her class at the moment. She has a long list of credits to her name and she’s busting her ass to keep going. I hate it when people say things like:

“If only I had a big advance, I’d write a best seller”
“If only I had time, I’d write more”
“I have an idea that could make millions, but I never have the time”
“Well, yeah, I haven’t written anything in five years. Or really since college, but I’m a writer.”

Being a writer means that you sit your ass down and write. While other people get to watch tv, play video games, or do fun stuff, you are putting words on the screen, paper, or whatever. 90% of all writers are not rich. Some are well off. Some barely make a living.

As a technical writer, I make a decent living. If I tried to live on the proceeds of solely of my fiction, I’d be much, much thinner. I do it for the love of the craft. That doesn’t mean that I’m going to quit my day job. Most writers, even famous ones, don’t make that much money.

I gave up for a few years and just lived and did my technical writing. I had my early twenties rebellion in my late twenties. A few months ago, insatia lit a fire under my ass and made me realize I was putting off a dream. So I was also guilty of it, which is why it likely bothers me.

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