I don't feel like I have been accomplishing much lately. I haven't painted in a couple of months, and I struggle finishing a chapter in my novel or my desert book edits. I have itty bitty bits of time. I shouldn't complain, lots of people have it much worse, but here I am complaining. I would love 24 hours where I didn't have to talk to anyone or answer any questions. One whole day where I didn't have to clean up cat-puke, make dinner, or step around a maze of things randomly left on the floor.
I would also love some great news! I'll just leave that statement floating.
I have pretty much concluded that to make it as a writer is about as likely as winning a grand prize at a raffle where one million people have bought tickets. I'm not going to give up writing my stories and my books about endangered species, those are burning inside me and have to get out. I guess I must simply change my expectations.
Therefore, I am actively applying for work. Funny, we moved near a larger city and I am such a small fish here that I don't have any prospects. The competition is so great that it is almost as difficult to get hired here as it is to get published.
There is also the happiness factor. The dream of doing what I love for a living must be put to the side. I think that's the hardest part to swallow. But, swallow, I must - as Yoda would say.