Sacrifices made

It’s raining today. Drops slide down my window like translucent snails. Water puddles in the street. Worms tunnel up from drowning liquid and sprawl across the sidewalk. And here I sit in front of my computer belting out another novel. I forget who said it, but I remember a quote that summed up the writing life completely. The quote went simply; being a writer is like having homework every day for the rest of your life. And that’s true for the serious, passionate author. Not a day goes by that I don’t contribute in some way to one of my books or upcoming projects. Tens of thousands of hours spent plotting, pitching, and producing. Sometimes I wonder what I would have done with those hours had I not been a writer? Perhaps, I would’ve become a great businessman, or politician? Or perhaps, I would have wasted them in front of a TV or video game? Perhaps, I would have been a barfly and one drunken evening met someone other than my wife? Unless I can invent a time machine, I’ll never know. My current work-in-progress deals with these kinds of questions, but I’m not going to get into promotion right now. What makes nostalgia flow on days like this is the social sacrifices all serious writers make. It is the loneliest profession in the world, after all. The saddest however, is the writer who doesn’t hit the grand success they’ve dreamt and think they have wasted their time pursuing their passion. If you truly enjoy your craft than that enjoyment itself is the reward; not fortune, fame, or recognition. All the sacrifices made are worth it.