What my life really is an extraordinarily stripped down situation. Somewhere in the back of my mind years ago I decided what I really wanted was to live and work here in SF and set my life up so I can write all the time. This goal has been and continues to be accomplished.
- I don't have a significant other to worry about so I can spend hours writing.
- I don't have kids (similar reason).
- I live alone.
- I don't watch TV.
- I have a giant 32" computer screen so my Word documents are HUGE.
- I have a good job that pays well, and this is really important, and I don't have to work a lot of overtime. I get to go home at 5:30 pm on most days and have yet to work the weekend. Unbelievable.
- I have this blog which has given me the courage and excitement of realizing the pleasure of having an audience and it has taught me that my writing moves people.
- I don't have a lot of hobbies although I can find some just around the corner there.
- SF is supposed be a good "writing" city.
I set everything up the way I wanted to and I'm not embracing this grand gift I have of a good steady income, a lovely City and time. Sweet, precious time. I have a ton in my life and I'm squandering it.
I get scared. So scared that something will happen (such as a catastrophic injury, Armageddon, breast cancer, a bad morning commute) and I will look back on these five years as a period of time that I squandered. Such a sin! Such an affront! No one is allowed to set up their lives like this and not follow through. I should be drawn and quartered.
Sigh. This evening I wondered what my life would be like if I gave up on writing altogether. Sure, I'd still keep this blog since it's the most productive aspect of my writing life, but other than that why not give up on my stories?
There are a million reasons and none have to do with making the bestseller list or even getting published. Hell, none of them have to do with anybody reading my stories and novels. It's all about me. The biggest reason is the thought of giving up the stories inside me, rolling around like so many silver balls waiting to be juggled, is that I need to know how those stories turn out. I need to know not only what happens to the character, but who the characters are. I can't let the stories just shrivel up and die inside me without seeing the light of day. It seems like the gravest sin of all. It seems like a direct affront to whoever is in charge around here. It seems like doing something like that would cause a giant fire bolt to nuke out of the sky and leave nothing but some singed clothes and my sneakers behind. Creation is the ultimate blessing.
I am tired and I don't know what to do. I'm burned out, but I don't know from what. I need a lot of things. I need to go eat and go to sleep. I wish I knew what to do after that. When I think of giving up writing I can't even imagine what I would do to fill in the time. I feel so damn uncomfortable right now. What do I do? What do I do?