So, I did it.
Today, I walked in and said, “I love working here, but I do not love my job. I do not want to write copy anymore. Advertising writing is not my kind of writing. What I want to do is sit at the front desk, and answer the phones, and write a book.”
Thankfully—amazingly—they were agreeable to this idea.
Today, I turned down another job, one with better pay and benefits. I told them I did not want to edit oil and gas periodicials, even if it might mean the title of “editor,” which might someday, maybe, lead to being an editor of actual interesting books. Today I realized I’d rather be on the other end of those books.
Today I realized I was unhappy, and it wasn’t my job; it was my career.
I’ve always wanted to write books, but I knew no one was going to give me a job where I just wrote books from 8-5. So instead I pursued careers where I could write everyday—I just wasn’t writing anything I enjoyed. And I realized that writing things everyday you don’t enjoy is not conducive not coming home and writing things you do enjoy. You are burnt out on writing itself. The best thing that ever happened to me, creatively, was unemployment. Writing became fun again.
So now I get to have a job where I love, but my brain gets to play all day while my mouth and hands are on the clock. And then I write at the desk, or go home and write, and hopefully—Oh my God—hopefully, in six months or so, I will have written a book.
I am absolutely terrified.
More than that, though, I am thrilled.