This is my last week as a full-time writer and artist, at least for a few years. Starting October 7th I go back to a regular job and return to writing part-time.
I’m not sad about this – in fact, the opposite. Over the last two years some of my writer friends have said I seem more relaxed than they’ve ever seen me, and I think that’s in part to having a steady paycheque. I like having small, regular amounts of money to work with; this is, of course, why I chose a profession in which that hardly ever happens.
I do regret losing the ability to do that 2,000 words a day if I choose to, but I can still write in the car, and on my weekends, and at the quarterly writing binges, and whenever else I can find time. As with anything one loves to do, I’ll manage to find a way to do it.
I’m still working on the rewrite of The Last Black Swan, a little behind schedule. That’s how it goes. I’ve learned to let up on myself a bit when I don’t accomplish everything I said I was going to do. In fact, I’m learning to cut down on what I say I’m going to do and be a bit more realistic about that, too.
It has been a wonderful summer, full of fun, and writing, and art, and many, many things to celebrate, including – if I can extend “summer” into September – thirty years with David. We met on September 20th, 1983. After I met him I never seriously considered anyone else. (Okay, I’m married, but I’m not dead! We can all flirt, right?)
If I could choose, of course I’d go on with the life I’ve led this summer. But I have to pay the bills, so a job is in order. This one I can leave at work, and I can go on writing, and commiting art, and looking very, very relaxed.