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.
The key is not to live in Flatbush. That’s why Scalzi lives in the sticks.
Very true. I figured the universe was trying to tell me something this week – first there was your warm bath post, then Cole’s post – not saying I want to answer the phone on that one, but still, there was a similarity of theme in my mind.