A sobering post by Myke Cole about making the decision to be a full time writer. Granted, as a single guy with no other obligations, he has a few more options, but its rather sobering to see someone list out the real life cuts in their lifestyle to try and make it as a full time writer. I can appreciate what Cole is doing to be a writer, even if I know it isn’t practical in my own life.

I am not com­fort­able with my cur­rent lifestyle. I accept it because I want to be a full-time writer really badly. I live in a run-down building in a some­what unsafe neigh­bor­hood. My apart­ment is tiny. The building is noisy and reeks of mar­i­juana. Kids occa­sion­ally deal in the stair­wells. The hot water is inter­mit­tent and so is the ele­vator. My walls throb with my down­stairs neighbor’s reggae well into the wee hours. I am con­vinced that the one reason I’m safe (so far) is because my whole bearing screams COP from 300 paces. People, totally unbidden by me, rou­tinely call me “sir” or “officer.” While that’s tech­ni­cally true (Coast Guard are fed­eral police), I sure as hell don’t have juris­dic­tion in Flat­bush, Brooklyn.