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As part of my goal to become a paid writer, I joined a few Facebook groups for authors this week. These are the people who ratchet up my anxiety.
I'm happy for them all. Really, I am. But so many of them with a printed book in hand seem to be a decade or two younger than me. I can't help but think where I would be if I had devoted that much time to my own writing when I was their age. Do I still have enough time to reach my goals?
My husband and I both enjoy writing. We both once felt that we had a novel or two in us.
"I just don't know that I do anymore," my husband said recently. I'm not sure I do either, though every now and then, I think I might. I'll have a thought about a character or a snippet of a plot might come to me while I'm drifting off at night. It doesn't happen often, though.
I think I'd be happy with any writing job that paid enough for us to get by and put away money for emergencies, bad health, and retirement. I don't know that I need to be a published author. But every now and then, I wonder.
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