Tuesday, September 21, 2010, posted by Q6 at 10:44 AM
For the last several months, I've had a dream. More of a fantasy, actually, because these last few days I've begun to see this dream shrivel a bit. My concern for my dream's welfare grows as reality, a cursed scourge, a pox rears its head and makes its presence known.

Let me back up a bit.

I have a dream. My dream is to quit a perfectly good job, one that carries with it decent hours, a healthy paycheck, and awesome benefits--to quit, and to get out of the business completely. It's a job I used to love, and I don't love it anymore. I don't even like it a little. I've been in the "industry" for almost twenty years, and I feel like I've had enough.

My dream is to write for a living. I have an idea for a novel, one or two ideas for television series, and several ideas for feature screenplays. I've almost finished the second draft of my first screenplay, a daunting task, a satisfying task, and, in my mind, my ticket outta here. The way it plays out in my head: I write the first screenplay, I sell it for enough money to cover me for a couple of years, and use that time to write and sell even more of them. I don't want to go all big-mansion, fast-car rock-star; I just want to make enough of a nest egg to write from the nest.

My dream includes a vignette in which I resign from my job. People are shocked. No one sees the logic. The staff is flummoxed, the boss is poleaxed. NO ONE saw it coming.

My dream is, of course, the dream of many. And because that dream is so sought after, the percentage of people who fulfill this dream shrinks as the number of people who seek this dream expands; and lately, I've been hit with a few thoughts in opposition to the dream: that the screenplay won't sell for enough to allow me to quit, that I may need to write several screenplays before trying to enter the market (meaning more time in the dreaded day job), or that the screenplay won't sell at all.

And, being who I am, the thoughts of reality--the realization that this mountain I'm attempting to climb looks much steeper up close--impacts my momentum to write during the hours and half-hours in which I can sneak in some writing. I'm not at some "What's the use?" exclamation . . . yet. And I'm trying to keep my momentum up, my writing [as] constant [as possible], and avoid thinking the "What if it doesn't work?" thoughts.

Until then, I will continue to spend 8 hours a day doing shit I don't really wanna do. I will maintain financial stability and I will pay the bills . . . until I can get the screenplays to take over that task.
Thursday, September 09, 2010, posted by Q6 at 10:35 AM
I have reached a point in life I never thought I'd reach: I'm tired of my job. For years, I've enjoyed it, looked forward to it each morning, and tried to do it well. On occasion, I would hit a slump: too much to do, a big matter requiring lots of time, or something else -- temporary -- that would bring me down. This time, however, it feels like a significant portion of my give-a-shit has just shriveled up and died. I really don't care about it anymore.

There are bills to pay, however, so I trudge along. (Is this what all the corproate-cubicle people feel like all the time? How does Dilbert do it?)