It has been my life-long dream to be a writer (the kind that actually makes a living at it). For nearly six years, I worked on my first novel, “The Hunted One,” which will be released January 17, 2014. And for the last few months, I have focused on nothing else but actually getting to the point where I can push the publish button.
But that’s stupid to say, because so many other aspiring writers have been working at the pursuit of this career for longer than I’ve been alive.
Yet, I still decided to put in my notice at my office job.
I probably sound like a presumptuous you-know-what and maybe I am, because I haven’t even published my first book.
But failure has never been an option for me.
In November, I was struggling. Daily, I wavered between quitting and staying at my current job until I could make enough as a writer to quit. The argument in my head went something like this:
You can’t quit. You haven’t made any money yet. You might never sell a book. Self published writers are lucky to sell 250 books in their lifetime. You are not an exception. Do not believe you are an exception.
I am not an exception. I’m just like you. But…
You’ve saved enough money to pay for the next book’s expenses. You’ve sacrificed your expensive hobby (showing horses) so that you can pay to write properly edited and formatted books. You husband is a wonderful man who supports your dreams even if he thinks you’re a little crazy. You have no mortgage, no car payments, no kids, and no debt. If you quit, you can write more books faster. If you quit, you can work twice as hard to make your dream come true.
Obviously you can see what side of the argument I leaned toward.
I’ve worked since I was 15. I understand what it means to spend every day working toward a long-term goal. It’s rarely gratifying, and when you finally reach the end, you’re too exhausted to care. But when you look back on those years, you forget the endless days and only relive the pride of that accomplishment.
I got married this year. I got a new job this year. I got to work at 7 AM , spend my day fixing lazy people’s mistakes, get frustrated, drive to the barn, spend hours with my horse, drive home, fight with my husband for half an hour, and then write.
It was a stupid process.
And I was going to fail.
So I quit. But I am in a lucky position where that was a feasible option for me. Not many are as fortunate as I am.
Maybe I am an idiot. I haven’t even published my first book. But I also made a decision that terrified me, made me live in the moment, and bettered the quality of my short time here on Earth. I put my faith in God, who has never broken a promise to me. And I making my dream come true.
I guess this somehow turned into a New Year’s post, which is timely since tomorrow is my first official day as a full-time writer. I found that resolutions are pointless for me. I never stick them out. But I am a dreamer. And I’ve put myself in a position to accomplish a life-long dream. And that definitely sounds better than resolving to lose twenty pounds.
Because obviously that will never happen for me.