Imagine this. You come to the conclusion that you want to write full time, that writing is what you want to spend the rest of your life doing. Several years later and you feel in a position to draw out a plan that should make that happen within the next 14 months. If not successful, that plan will at least get you within spitting distance of said goal. The Plan is chewed and tested enough that it deserves capitalising, and you’re so familiar with rolling the year 2016 around in your head that you’re surprised that there are still a few months of 2015 left.
Then imagine what would happen if, within the space of weeks rather than months, life stuff happens and you can ditch the day job for certain (not hopefully or possibly, like before). You can then write full time a full ten months before your previous end goal date.
It’s a good thing, nay, GREAT, but it’s certainly a lot to take in. That’s what has happened to me. I think part of me is still staring into space with the vacant expression of disbelief.
A few months ago, I met someone that made it all possible. In the last few weeks, I’ve left my day job, moved several hundred miles away, and started to try and get myself organised for a life of writing and self employed work.
There’s a lot to adjust to, but I couldn’t be happier. I intended to spend my first week in my new home playing computer games, relaxing and adjusting. Instead, I ended up getting stuck into work related Stuff at all hours of the day and night. I didn’t feel forced to, and I enjoyed it. It’s hard to call it work when you love what you’re doing so much.
My next step is to see about picking up a little writing related work if I can, and with the rest of my time, I get to finally put the finishing touches to my first novel and get it ready for the beta readers that keep asking after it.
I knew 2016 was going to be a good year for me and my work, but it’s already far exceeded my expectations and it’s barely even begun yet.