I have realised, of late, I have squandered creative opportunities in order to make more money. This has been a regular occurrence since I was seventeen and got my first part time job. Since then I feel I've let money (and other things) cloud my judgement somewhat. My original intention for this post was to write out a list of my wasted opportunities. However, that is a little too narcissistic even for my tastes.
At the age of fifthteen I was published in an edition of New Writing Scotland. I even got a wee mention in the introduction by the editors. It gave me hope that writing was something I was good at; something I should pursue.
Then I'm not sure what happened. Writing drifted away from me. The words didn't come as easily as they used to. My time got swallowed up by university, friends, the pub, romantic interests, work, other things that make up life. At times the reading stopped too. That's when I knew I was in big trouble. As any student of writing knows, a good writer has to do a heck of a lot of reading too. How else are the words supposed to come?
It's time I took a big step. This week I handed in my notice to one of my part time jobs. After Christmas, I should have half a week to write, edit, ponder about the stories that have been floating around my head for the past decade.
I cannot bloody wait.