OK, then. My ducks are almost in a row, at least for the short term, and I have enough disparate income sources that I *shouldn't* be left hungry or without utilities if one or more go tits-up, even temporarily.
I had become complacent for the first time in my life, depending on my employment income as being reliable and stable just because I'd been doing it for 30 years, so when it got yanked out from under me, even with a pretty generous exit package, it was a horrifying reminder that no one is irreplaceable in the workplace.
No one.
Anyhow.
I have a little room to breathe and think about what I really want to do going forward.
And I keep coming back to one thing.
My entire life, I've wanted to be a writer. I've had a few gigs that paid a little money over the years, but nothing more than pocket-change.
After spinning my wheels for a few months frantically applying to any job that remotely sounded like it was something I could do and not hate, and not get in the way of running the Air BnB's, which are now my main source of income thanks to a subtle marketing shift, I lucked into my part-time job through a friend. I am very, very lucky.
But, am I lucky enough to be able to earn a following for my writing? Gomez always said I was, and he was never wrong.
I spent years being demoralized, oddly enough, by a friend's success in his writing career. I love words. Every word I type and install into a piece is there for a reason. Each one has its own heft, and taste, and value. If a story I write begs to be read out loud, I know I've done right by the words.
Our friend happened to fall into a niche demographic: gun nut survivalist far-right Rambo wannabees.
His books get slapped up on Amazon in a format that would be considered pre-rough draft to anyone who writes even casually. The spelling and grammar are horrific. Formatting is non-existent. But none of that matters. He has thousands of devoted followers all over the world who can't get enough of his one-dimensional characters killing libtards and making judgment calls to wipe out entire cities just because they are different from what his hero thinks of as moral.
He's made over a hundred thousand dollars, at least.
I'm not bitter (really), and I'm happy for his success, and while he was living here with us, a lot of that money was useful for...paying medical bills, farm repairs, etc. etc. etc. and he never begrudged any of it.
Except DAMN it was hard to see his royalty payments bringing in thousands of dollars a month, while royalty payments for my books on the same platform are usually under $5.00 per month.
So, when life got busy, and work got busy and Ward's health declined, I just stopped writing, and told myself I didn't really miss it, and it was all for the best.
Now, though.
My brain is poking me in the eye (from the inside) and saying, "Lissen, old lady. You wanted to do this. You always wanted to do this. Stop watching Facebook videos and knuckle down and do it. There's no 'maybe' about it anymore. You want this? Fucking do it."
All that to say...I'm going to fucking do it. And I'm not going to stop this time.
I have the taste of the words in my mouth again, and they are delicious.
If you have an inclination to help a struggling author, here's my Patreon:
Plan Q | When Life gives you lemons, you don't have to accept them | Patreon
And if you'd like to buy a book directly, here's my website:
Sheri's Site (mystrikingly.com)
And if you want a Kindle version, they're here:
Amazon.com: Sheri Dixon: books, biography, latest update
Thank you for reading. It means the world to me.
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