This friend told me I was shooting too high. That the odds made it all but impossible. That I could always keep writing as a hobby but I should focus on doing something that would pay the bills, something with a health plan and a 401K.
And Lordy Pete, as my character Odell would say, there have been days when I thought I should have listened. Days when I wasn't quite sure how to make the bills line up or how I would ever convince a publisher to take a chance on me when only eleven people bought my last book.
But I had two things that the average bear does not:
1. Barbara Poelle
2. A HELL of a lot of determination
The former speaks for herself.
As for the latter...well, let me put it this way. Last week a certain someone in my life had some minor surgery because her hyperthyroid was making too much calcium. It was like, "you want me to make some calcium, bitches? Watch THIS" and flooding her system with it, and so they had to yank that sucker out. Well, they haven't invented the surgery yet that will address my overproduction of grit. I'm thinking my blood probably runs with sand, because I just. Can. Not. Stop. I love my job and plan to do it until I am dead, even if I am writing in the bathroom stall on my breaks working at the DMV.
The deal is that they are going to pay me a truckload of cash and in return, I am going to go big and fearless. I am going to reach down deep and use every lesson I've learned, every mistake I've made, every dusky dream and wee-hours nightmare I've ever had and Abby and I are going to build something spectacular together.
I could go on and on about Abby like I usually do, but right now I kind of want to just keep her to myself. It's like I've got my dream date to the prom and I just want to go moon and sigh a little. But I promise you this. After I take a little time off to sweep up the broken china that is my personal life (it's been a hell of a year), words are going to roll.