I've been fairly lucky this week work-wise. I've been able to catch at least some sort of work from some website almost as fast as I can write it. None of it is paying all that super, but it's consistent. August was horrible, and I was grasping to get anything. Those months will come again. I know they will. So I keep hitting the accept button. Pushing myself to take the next assignment, and I've already made more in September than I did all of August.
Grant it, I wasn't watching quite as closely in August. My son transferred to a new college out of town this year. My daughter's a college freshman locally which meant paperwork, college visits, making sure financial aid was all working out.
A little over a year ago I was fighting for my job, and losing. I knew I didn't really want it anymore, but I still fought. I needed the money, and not much else was out there. I felt small, in quicksand, smothered. I'm not sure if job security or making a little more money is worth feeling like that again.
So I will check my queues. Write one more thing that's due tomorrow. Sleep and write some more in the morning. Because I'd rather do this, than go back to that-- even if it means scraping the bottom of the barrel, or working too many hours for not enough money.
I've wanted to make my living as a writer since I was six years old. This is my shot.
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