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bittersweet
It's not often (almost never, in fact) that I cast a glance at what I'm doing with my life and think that I might be happier doing something else.
But I'm spending this evening immersed in a world that I created, with characters who came from somewhere inside of me but are acquiring dimensions and voices entirely of their own accord. Putting words next to one another and revelling in the patterns that result. Nothing else compares to this -- whenever I'm doing it it's grudgingly sublime, whenever I'm not doing it there's a part of me that wishes I was, right now, this moment, all moments, always.
It's entirely true that I would rather be a full-time writer than anything else.
It is, sadly, just as true that I don't have any faith in my ability to achieve this.
(So what's a concurrent life plan that allows me a lot of free time in which to practice the thing I enjoy the most? I KNOW: MED SCHOOL.
OH WAIT.
Ha.)
But I'm spending this evening immersed in a world that I created, with characters who came from somewhere inside of me but are acquiring dimensions and voices entirely of their own accord. Putting words next to one another and revelling in the patterns that result. Nothing else compares to this -- whenever I'm doing it it's grudgingly sublime, whenever I'm not doing it there's a part of me that wishes I was, right now, this moment, all moments, always.
It's entirely true that I would rather be a full-time writer than anything else.
It is, sadly, just as true that I don't have any faith in my ability to achieve this.
(So what's a concurrent life plan that allows me a lot of free time in which to practice the thing I enjoy the most? I KNOW: MED SCHOOL.
OH WAIT.
Ha.)
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Plus, the world you created? AWESOME.
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