Good morning.
As I write this, I’m getting ready to start a new job. I’ve got a lot of worries. I don’t know what the job is or any of the people there, and yesterday, driving down to get here, my tire blew out. As a consequence, I’m going into my first day on about four hours of sleep and an ever-growing list of chores to do in all the time I don’t have. Oh well, a lot of people in the program I’m in don’t have any work at all—I heard one guy loudly explaining how he fears he’ll lose his house and another quietly confided in me that she hasn’t had work for a year.
Well, that’s my big bundle of stress on the one hand, but on the other, I’m full of eager anticipation: I’ve gone through edits and β-readers; I’ve ordered proofs; I’m about ready to self-publish. The short story collection I’ve been rambling about is almost here. I’ll go over the copies they should send me this week, and then I’ll set a date, God willing.
It’s been a lot of work getting here. I hope it pays off. I don’t want to have to work with my hands all my life. I love writing, and if I could make it, if I could spend all the time I now have to waste on a job and instead invest it in this passion, I imagine I would be happy. Perhaps happiness is a will-o’-wisp, but I think it’s what God has made me for.
I know I’ll write, I have to write, whether I make it or not. Until then, I’ll just keep writing and praying and striving.
Tale Told 