But it is okay that I am not trying to be a novel author anymore. As I think I have written about extensively in earlier posts, I was mostly in that game for the wrong reasons despite having some good ideas and some of the right emotions - the right drive.
It is a long story and I really don't care to reiterate it here and now, but suffice to say: Sometimes one can really feel no regrets.
Tried to take at least half the day off and rejuvenate my heart by writing a novella. But I was too tired inside.
The heart needs to rest first, I guess. Then it can open up again and rejuvenate by sharing what is in it.
And somehow, I think, that got stuck in my soul. As a belief now that I'm grown up that I am wasting something precious and becoming less than I could be, by giving up drawing - at least for anything else than doodling once in a while. Maybe illustrating the occasional live-talk or other limited project.
It's hard to explain and I can't 100 percent sure but I think this is the truth. Because I have constantly thought as the primary reason to continue to try to find time and energy and projects to draw ... that I should do this because otherwise 'I'm wasting talent'. But that's not the right motivation. It never was.
I constantly surprise myself. I wanted to have more in common with Tolkien than Hemingway, but I always end up with Hemingway. Or Woolf. Or Dillard, I guess.
I don't measure up to any of them, but we are talking about subject matter here, perhaps the only subject matter there truly is:
I can't even remember what my idea was with this art project, except it being fairly open, mostly good for soul, okay-if-never-finished.
But somewhen along the line even that got derailed and now I seem to remember that I wanted it to be more.
I just want it to be.
So that part of my soul is not lost. That's all that matters.
So I have bogged down and it has been stop-start for over a month, going slower and slower.
So today I had to drag myself back to it, if only to read like 5 pages and do the edits.
I guess that is what it is all about, what they all say ... what being a writer is about.
Tonight for example, after all the house-stuff, I only have cooking left because Char is too tired to do anything more. I could do that and then write 3 hours and go to bed and get up and go to Client tomorrow.
But I won't.
I write this, then cook, then go to bed early and get up fresher. Maybe do those blitzing 15-20 min writing with all my heart on the commute, getting down the next part of the Story.
It's good to remember that if I write 500 words per day on stories I love for the next 10 years then making mental room and spending calendar time for and on that ... is worth the most.
Worth a lot more, actually, than the money I will receive eventually for my efforts.
On the other hand, unless a truck runs over my hands or a meteor hits my eyes, I will be able to write at least 500 words per day on average. I've proven that already for extended periods of time. I'm proving it now with my most recent story.
So maybe 2 years could work, but what if it's 5 - or even 10? The time is going to pass anyway, and - especially considering past failures to hang on and persist - I think my future self of 53 will thank me for having written nearly 2 million words, spread out on, say, 73 self-published short novels of about 25K words a piece.
And what if it's only 60 - or even 50?
Unless something really, really bad happens, I could do this, if I persist.
And no matter what the hell the market looks like in 2027 I could earn something in the league of thousands. And that will be nice, both for my personal satisfaction, for feeling passionate about life and for relief when the shit hits the fan in other areas of life.