I didn't go to work yesterday. Why? I just felt like taking a day off. I needed a day for me, or I was going to go crazy. So I stayed home and I didn't get out of my pyjamas all day. And since I think I wrote a grand total of 50 words over the weekend, I decided to devote a few hours to writing and trying to catch up on Camp.
It was lovely. Two, three hours of peace and quiet. No distractions, just me and my book, bonding. And then I made brownies, just because I felt like it. I even broiled some marshmallows on top of them, something I've never even tried before. And when it was all done, I couldn't help but think, "This is what I want." I want to stay home and write full time. I want to just spend hours a day dedicated to my characters, my worlds, my plots, without it cutting into time for my husband, my family and friends, errands, cooking, or doing things for fun. I don't want days like yesterday to be a rare weekday pleasure. I want it to be my life, my future. It's really what I've always wanted, but I fell into the belief that I couldn't have it, because I was supposed to get a job and go there every day until I've saved up enough money to retire somewhere in my 60s. "That's just what people do." Well, I can't do that. I think I would go insane. I don't want the 9 to 5. I don't want the rest of my life defined by a Dolly Parton song.
But there's that little voice in my head that wonders, "If you do that, what about college?" What about it? Well, I went; my parents spent a lot for me to go. Being a stay-at-home writer, would all of it have been for naught? A waste of money? What value would my computer information systems degree have? And how far away is this dream? Should I dive into it when my husband makes enough to support us himself and get things written faster, or do I keep my day job and hope and pray I can have the energy, the willingness, and the drive to finally finish a book and try to find a publisher or an agent around my 9 to 5?
On a featureless plane, a static surface, I can see this dream, far ahead of me. But I can't tell how far. It could be a year or two away, or it may be there, taunting me until the day I retire. I guess it depends on me, doesn't it? On how much I really try to get there. And right now, I'm letting the degree, the job, the doubts stop me. I'm letting them make hills and ripples that get in the way of being able to see my goal. I have to decide when this stops and when I'm going to get serious about making my dream happen.
There's really only one answer. My muse and I are in agreement. It stops now. I'm vowing, here and now, by May 16th, one month from today, I will finish the second draft of my novel and pass it on to my second reviewer.
If life's going to make ripples, then I'm bringing a steamroller. Bring it on.