I have decided that I want to live the life of a writer, at least for a year. Some things you just know and recently, I have had the overwhelming urge to write full-time. My job as a public defender is rewarding but taxing. It doesn't allow me to completely focus on my writing.
Truth is, I need a year. Just one year to write. To spend my days thinking up stories and writing and editing.
Is a year too much to ask?
My memoir is almost finished but it needs substantial revising and editing. There are some holes to fill as well. Plus, I have other books in me. I want to write a romantic and realistic and kinda anti-romantic, love story. I want to write a YA fiction novel. I want, I want, I want to write full-time. Before it is too late.
I have grey hairs spouting up on the left side of my head that remind me that life goes quickly. I am forty plus (don't ask) and the years speed by faster the older one gets. I think it has something to do with the proportion of time left. To think about it makes my head hurt. Yet, I must think about it. I must remember that I only have this NOW, this life to live and I have my writing destiny to fulfill.
Now I just gotta figure out how to make it happen.