Work to write and vice versa

There are some people in life who call themselves writers, though not many of them seem to produce anything. Everyone seems to have a book in them, but really they are just romanticising the idea of being a writer. Being a writer seems to be something special, I mean it is, but most people do not know how hard it is to earn that title. And I’m not talking about the actual writing.

From an early age, I like creating stories. It comes naturally to me. I don’t know how, and when looking at both sides of my family, no one else does either. I seem to have sprouted out of nowhere (I’m so totally my parents’ child though). I grew up an only child and also turned out to be a loner too. So in combination with having a somewhat decent writing ability as well, I guess I gravitated towards expressing my stories in words and not another artform.

The ultimate end goal of me self-publishing my words is to create a steady income stream that allows me to write full time. Until then, it’s hospitality work and eustress that pushes me to write around the edges of my life. This means that I forgo other things such as socialising and enjoying my time off with whatever normal people do with their time.

I think I am very fortunate that my hobby of writing is pretty much free or low cost in terms of materials needed to produce anything. But that doesn’t mean its easy. A year ago I was unstoppable in terms of writing. I could produce one to two thousand words a day and then bam! I hit burnout and everything stopped. I had all this free time, tones of irritability and a bucket of frustration at myself. I was doing so well, what happened? I had many unfinished manuscripts, knew the order of scenes, but wat r werds? I literally couldn’t spell properly for months. My facebook chat logs were an embarrassment. You’d think I never graduated primary school. 

My brain and body were tied together and while the body was capable, the brain was done. No words from me. Good thing I had a job to occupy my time and give me money or I’d be screwed. I’m not a freelancer because I don’t really want to work with people and I want to spend all my time writing for myself. I’m not going to push out a ton of stories by writing other people’s ones. Do it yourself. Make time or fail.

Then what?

In 9 weeks I’m going to be 28 years old! I’ve never been so old before. Yesterday I was thinking about my future as a writer and storyteller. Currently, I’m making very little from my writing, but I do only have four titles out. My immediate plan of 10 books by age 30 seems like something I’ll accomplish either on time or even beforehand.

But then what?

All the money I’m earning at the moment is coming from my day job as bartender/waitress. It helps immensely that living in the UK means I do not have to worry about healthcare 🙂

But sometimes my thoughts go to where I’ll be in ten, twenty even thirty years time. I have ideas of what or where I’ll be like to be. I’m planning on still being writing, I’ll be disappointed if I’m not getting some form of decent income from it. I expect that after a decade of publishing I’ll start to see those dividends. But if I don’t, I won’t regret writing at all.

I try not to compare myself to other authors regardless of how they become more well known than me because their path is different to mine. But then again it would be nice to have enough of an income to take an extra day off work to work on my stories instead of using the time between my shifts. But the only way that can happen is to keep on writing.