I got a job. Not a grown-up job like I was intending, or a steppingstone to further my career as I was hoping, but a place to sit and earn money with other slobs, students and ex-pats without French credentials. You know: my people.
For a year I’ve been writing full-time, spending each and every day in my own company. So far, I’ve got a working draft on my first novel, a few short stories submitted to magazines and a first draft of a novella. I’ve also made a sad habit of wandering around in my underwear and talking to my fridge. What can I say, I get lonely. Then there’s the fact that when one has been earning money from the tender age of fourteen and a half, it’s hard to go from breadwinner to housewife. It brings on a slew of shame and guilt and self-confidence issues (at least for me). So for now, I’m testing this full-time employment thing again.
It doesn’t mean I’ll stop writing, though. Mornings are weekends are made for that, right?
How about you? Does working on the side help bolster your creativity, or suck you dry?