Chronicles of a Procrastinating Novelist Volume 21: Change
Long time readers and acquaintances know my career thus far is the result of a fortuitous blend of kind people providing me with the space to write and a lot of discipline to sit down and do it. It’s an enviable position, and one I’ve hesitated to disrupt all in horder-esque effort to protect the fact I had plenty of writing time and the opportunity to learn the craft.
But change is an inevitable, inescapable force; conversely, stagnation, especially when self-inflicted, is unhealthy. A sweet writing gig can morph into coasting in the rest of one’s life. One’s habits grow lax and irksome to the kind hearted soul housing one’s complacent ass. One’s self-esteem may plummet as one’s writing goals take longer and longer to accomplish, all while one remains dependent. One learns one’s craft, but without external forces to encourage change and boundary pushing, one’s craft may atrophy, grow stale and repetitive.
Maybe one needs to grow up and make a change.
So I did. I took a drastic, but necessary step and moved from my comfortable nest with my twin, ideal reader, and biggest writing champion. Now I’m living alone in a new state, having to learn to balance work and writing all over again, but this time with the rest of existent adult responsibility on my head. No more begging rides to work; I take the bus. No more half-assed bill paying of piddly grocery portions and occasional contributions to malfunctioning water heater’s repair. I have real rent, and eventually shall have a real apartment.
My sister now has the space to not be taking care of someone at home. I’ll be exposed to new people. New stories. New experiences. I can reinstate my submission schedule.
We can grow. Keep growing. Keep changing. And that is good.
Thank you for reading,
B
