For the first time in a well over a week I was able take a few consecutive hours to work on what will be my first full-length novel.  I’m mere hours away from having the first draft completed and unlike the last few times I went to write, when I often became stuck or lost or fearful that I wasn’t going to be able to make this work what it has the potential to be, today the writing flowed.  I couldn’t get ideas down fast enough on the page (I actually opened a new document once to write out a scene that I knew couldn’t come for several pages, but the heart of which I didn’t want to lose). Connections I hadn’t previously thought  of came to me, little ways to make the characters more real popped into my mind, and tidbits of foreshadowing that would draw my would-be readers in floated across the screen like little jewels.

It took all my discipline (and an adamantly grumbling stomach) to pull myself away from the keyboard, make lunch, and head back to the more practical and time sensitive work I knew I needed to finish today.  But the writing gifted me with one of those rare days when I feel like all my anxiety for spending so many hours on something that may never bring me income but that I call ‘work’ to justify the hours I’m not spending on endeavours that are more likely to keep a roof over my head and food in my belly is worth it.  One of those days when it’s not really even important whether the novel ever gets published, whether – next step – it actually does become a source of income.  One of those days when even if my close family and friends are the only ones to ever see the words and get to know the characters I’ve poured so much into, it’s okay – heck, it doesn’t matter if even those few don’t read my novel.  It’s been one of those when I know I write because it’s in me,  because it brings me joy and makes me feel more me than just about anything else in this life.  One of those days when I know that the decision to spend a significant number of my “working” hours on something that in the world’s eyes may never come to fruition is a hundred percent worth it because it’s a decision – in the words of the much admired entrepreneur and fashion guru of Clutch Culture* – to follow my bliss.

* . . . and Joseph Campbell

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