Big News!
You know how I love writing and do pretty much nothing else with my spare time?
Maybe you didn't know that. I'll bring you up to speed: if I'm not writing, I'm reading about writing, or in a chat room with other writers, or critiquing someone's writing, or watching lectures on writing, or just generally... talking and thinking about writing. The best days at work are when I have a big space without appointments so I can get some progress done on my draft while I'm there.
It didn't take long for me to figure out that I want to eventually be a writer. My criteria for this started far-off, and gradually shrank...
"I'll quit my job when I'm making more money from writing than from vet."
"I'll quit when I've sold at least a couple books and have a steady income."
"I'll switch to writing when I've sold a solid 3 books, so I know the first two aren't flukes."
"I'll quit my job after I publish my first book. Okay, maybe after I just get the book deal."
"Wow I'm really stressed out and miserable at work... maybe I should leave regardless. End of the year?"
"Ack I can't wait that long. You know what sucks about being a pet doctor? You have to see sick pets! All the time! All the sick pets!"
My initial plan was to make compromises. Rearrange my schedule, or go to part-time. I talked to one of my coworkers about my part-time plan--what if I covered nights and weekends, and had the rest of the time to write? Not a bad plan. The other doctors would like that, no doubt.
For some reason, that's where the switch flipped in my brain. Before that conversation, there was a lot of humming and hawing about all these various "compromise" ideas I had, and this assumption that I wasn't going to be a full-on writer writer until some distant point in the future. But when I imagined myself working, for instance, every saturday, I realized just how much I would hate going in to work on every day that wasn't a writing day. All the vet days would still include dealing with clients, dying pets, arguing about fleas, and everything else that comes with the territory.
My parents, surprisingly, told me I obviously should stop doing something that was making me be miserable, and they were jealous that I had writing available as an option. My husband was like, "duh," and my counselor was like, "the light has never been greener." Apparently the only person to whom it wasn't insanely obvious already was me.
So I gave my 30 days notice, and spent September alternately stunned that that had happened and scrambling to get my life organized. I kept wavering on how I felt, until I hit that last week as a vet, and then suddenly there was a very strong sense of: "See ya suckers! I'ma go be a writer finally!"
I took a week of vacation and recuperation with my husband, and now this week marks my very first week as a FULL. TIME. PROFESSIONAL. WRITER.
Maybe you didn't know that. I'll bring you up to speed: if I'm not writing, I'm reading about writing, or in a chat room with other writers, or critiquing someone's writing, or watching lectures on writing, or just generally... talking and thinking about writing. The best days at work are when I have a big space without appointments so I can get some progress done on my draft while I'm there.
It didn't take long for me to figure out that I want to eventually be a writer. My criteria for this started far-off, and gradually shrank...
"I'll quit my job when I'm making more money from writing than from vet."
"I'll quit when I've sold at least a couple books and have a steady income."
"I'll switch to writing when I've sold a solid 3 books, so I know the first two aren't flukes."
"I'll quit my job after I publish my first book. Okay, maybe after I just get the book deal."
"Wow I'm really stressed out and miserable at work... maybe I should leave regardless. End of the year?"
"Ack I can't wait that long. You know what sucks about being a pet doctor? You have to see sick pets! All the time! All the sick pets!"
My initial plan was to make compromises. Rearrange my schedule, or go to part-time. I talked to one of my coworkers about my part-time plan--what if I covered nights and weekends, and had the rest of the time to write? Not a bad plan. The other doctors would like that, no doubt.
For some reason, that's where the switch flipped in my brain. Before that conversation, there was a lot of humming and hawing about all these various "compromise" ideas I had, and this assumption that I wasn't going to be a full-on writer writer until some distant point in the future. But when I imagined myself working, for instance, every saturday, I realized just how much I would hate going in to work on every day that wasn't a writing day. All the vet days would still include dealing with clients, dying pets, arguing about fleas, and everything else that comes with the territory.
My parents, surprisingly, told me I obviously should stop doing something that was making me be miserable, and they were jealous that I had writing available as an option. My husband was like, "duh," and my counselor was like, "the light has never been greener." Apparently the only person to whom it wasn't insanely obvious already was me.
So I gave my 30 days notice, and spent September alternately stunned that that had happened and scrambling to get my life organized. I kept wavering on how I felt, until I hit that last week as a vet, and then suddenly there was a very strong sense of: "See ya suckers! I'ma go be a writer finally!"
I took a week of vacation and recuperation with my husband, and now this week marks my very first week as a FULL. TIME. PROFESSIONAL. WRITER.
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