Just to follow up yesterday’s post, I know it may have sounded like I was contradicting myself. In a previous post – maybe more than one – I indicated that I saw a future in writing as my escape from my current work life.
If you don’t know me, that might have sounded like determination and hope. To me, looking back on depression, it reeks of despair and desperation. I was grasping at straws, hoping for anything to “make me” feel better.
I feel so much better now, and creative writing is just an outlet – not an escape. I’m enjoying more of my everyday life, and I see writing as a complement to that.
I may occasionally say something like, “I’d love to do nothing but sit around and be a writer all day!” Just ignore me when I say things like that. I know full-time writers work very hard. They aren’t just sitting around eating bon-bons.