I have always known what I wanted to be when I grew up. There were a few different main jobs I was planning on having but I always planned on doing one of them on the side or even full time. It depended on the day. Well ... I'm all grown up and I am not it. But, it's not too late to be it. Yes? No?
Ever since I learned how to write, I wrote stories. I love to read and think that people who publish books are giving me some of the greatest gifts in the world. I love to slip away to other worlds and escape the mundane reality of my own life. I also like to write things of my own, hoping to some day give that to some other reader.
I want to be a writer.
You could say I am. I write every day. I have completed three books that I self published on Amazon and just finished the second re-write of my fourth that is going to hopefully be picked up by a literary agent and published the ol' fashioned way. However, I am not doing that for a living right now. I am not a writer who has an agency and a publishing house churning out my work. I do have an editor to whom I am eternally grateful but ... that's where it ends. I'm a full time dispatcher who is desperately trying to live her dreams of being a novelist simultaneously.
It's both invigorating and depressing at the same time. My full time job is one that I enjoy immensely and it allows me to cultivate that dream but ... it's not what I dreamed of doing as a child. It's not what I ultimately see myself doing. But, until then, I need the bills paid.
Be a starving artist! Who me? NO. I don't necessarily want to be a homeless artist but that is where I would be headed if I gave up the full time job for a shot at my name becoming a household name as a novelist. Or even better ... an Academy Award winning screenwriter.
I close my eyes and see myself working with someone to adapt my books into movies. I see myself helping with casting, with location scouting. I can see all of this as if it was actually going to happen. But then, the realist in my head reminds me that I can also write entire stories about people and see those things vividly in my mind as well so all these dreams must just be another figment of my tremendous imagination.
Will I ever be able to make money with my writing? Will an agent out there take me under their wing and guide me to a point of finding my books at Costco, Barnes and Noble and on Amazon (not as self published titles)? Will they put me on the path to flying around the country and even the world on a book tour, signing copies of my books for my devoted fans?
A girl can really dream, can't she?
I want this so badly I can taste it. I squash the desire down, reminding myself that I don't have a degree in English, my books aren't that good, I'm just a girl from Santa Rosa and I should be more realistic about where my future is headed. But then, I start working on a book and that fire explodes and spreads through me like wild fire.
I want this.
Why can't I have it? When is it going to be my turn?