Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about commitment. What am I committed too? And what can I leave behind?
Some of the answers are easy. I’m committed to my family, to my little fur babies I love so much. And I’m committed to my writing. After that it gets a little more difficult. I’m committed to my day job because it pays the bills, but certainly not to the degree that I am my writing. I’m committed to the company I work for, only because I hope their committed to me, by keeping me employed and finding me to be a value to the company.
This last week all of that was thrown into uproar. My day job is suddenly not as stable as it once was, which is leading me to question, if I had to, could I commit all to my writing? Would I be willing to take a chance and commit myself entirely to my writing?
I can’t remember a time I wasn’t writing, that I didn’t want to be an author. I don’t think I could stop writing if I wanted to. It’s a part of me. But I’ve never been able to commit myself fully to my writing. There were always many other things going on in my life. School. Work. Both. And I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted to.
Completely devoting yourself to writing is a hard life. It is lonely and scary. Never knowing when the next royalty check will come in. Focusing on your work twenty four hours a day. Getting rejected over and over again, for something so close and emotional to you.
Yet I can’t help realizing that my fellow artists have to do the same, they don’t have a choice to live a separate life while making their art. Yes, musicians and actors can have day jobs to pay the bills, but they have to be ready to drop them at a moment’s notice to join the tour or go on location for three months. They have to take time out of those jobs to go to auditions and spend just as much time practicing and taking classes as I do writing and reading.
So is it just a perk that writers can easily get done what we need to after work and on weekends? Would we all be served better by truly committing ourselves to our writing the way musicians and actors do? Or is that too much pressure for our art, forcing us to produce plenty and not submit the heart and love we need?
It’s just a little bit of what’s been running through my head these days. As the future becomes increasingly unstable for me, and the present is a tangled mess. I can’t help wondering, exactly how committed am I? How far am I willing to go for my writing?
Some of the answers are easy. I’m committed to my family, to my little fur babies I love so much. And I’m committed to my writing. After that it gets a little more difficult. I’m committed to my day job because it pays the bills, but certainly not to the degree that I am my writing. I’m committed to the company I work for, only because I hope their committed to me, by keeping me employed and finding me to be a value to the company.
This last week all of that was thrown into uproar. My day job is suddenly not as stable as it once was, which is leading me to question, if I had to, could I commit all to my writing? Would I be willing to take a chance and commit myself entirely to my writing?
I can’t remember a time I wasn’t writing, that I didn’t want to be an author. I don’t think I could stop writing if I wanted to. It’s a part of me. But I’ve never been able to commit myself fully to my writing. There were always many other things going on in my life. School. Work. Both. And I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted to.
Completely devoting yourself to writing is a hard life. It is lonely and scary. Never knowing when the next royalty check will come in. Focusing on your work twenty four hours a day. Getting rejected over and over again, for something so close and emotional to you.
Yet I can’t help realizing that my fellow artists have to do the same, they don’t have a choice to live a separate life while making their art. Yes, musicians and actors can have day jobs to pay the bills, but they have to be ready to drop them at a moment’s notice to join the tour or go on location for three months. They have to take time out of those jobs to go to auditions and spend just as much time practicing and taking classes as I do writing and reading.
So is it just a perk that writers can easily get done what we need to after work and on weekends? Would we all be served better by truly committing ourselves to our writing the way musicians and actors do? Or is that too much pressure for our art, forcing us to produce plenty and not submit the heart and love we need?
It’s just a little bit of what’s been running through my head these days. As the future becomes increasingly unstable for me, and the present is a tangled mess. I can’t help wondering, exactly how committed am I? How far am I willing to go for my writing?
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