One last thing
So, CONvergence was basically four days of pure happiness. I came home emotion-drunk, and proceeded to get an emotion-hangover.
I kept telling myself that I had to be practical, that I had to think about what made sense, but all I knew was that I could not go back to working at Mall of America. Not after four days of people telling me how much they loved my writing, of doing writing and performing, of feeling creative and accepted and actually happy, not just 'basically content' or 'doing okay' or 'making the best of it,' but happy.
So I called my mom, because my mom, through no fault of her own but having a very different worldview on matters of practicality and such, is very good at squashing my dreams with a few casual words. So I figured, "Hey, if my mom cannot squash this dream, it must be strong enough to be real and true and to survive." So I called her, and we talked, and I cried a lot, and finally my mom not only supported my decision but actually made an amazing offer to loan me rent money on condition that I do a certain amount of writing on both my novel and on various short works each month, and that I start looking for a new job in November.
So I haven't been at MOA for almost a month now. I've got 200 pages and 60000 words of Steward of the Smallest Things done, and have several short stories that I'm working on and sending to various online zines. I have a couple of gigs on fiverr that I'll be pimping on here soon. Next week I'll probably take a quick break to write some fanfic, but I'm treating my original writing like a job now.
I'm excited, and scared, and nervous, and exhilarated, and happy.
I kept telling myself that I had to be practical, that I had to think about what made sense, but all I knew was that I could not go back to working at Mall of America. Not after four days of people telling me how much they loved my writing, of doing writing and performing, of feeling creative and accepted and actually happy, not just 'basically content' or 'doing okay' or 'making the best of it,' but happy.
So I called my mom, because my mom, through no fault of her own but having a very different worldview on matters of practicality and such, is very good at squashing my dreams with a few casual words. So I figured, "Hey, if my mom cannot squash this dream, it must be strong enough to be real and true and to survive." So I called her, and we talked, and I cried a lot, and finally my mom not only supported my decision but actually made an amazing offer to loan me rent money on condition that I do a certain amount of writing on both my novel and on various short works each month, and that I start looking for a new job in November.
So I haven't been at MOA for almost a month now. I've got 200 pages and 60000 words of Steward of the Smallest Things done, and have several short stories that I'm working on and sending to various online zines. I have a couple of gigs on fiverr that I'll be pimping on here soon. Next week I'll probably take a quick break to write some fanfic, but I'm treating my original writing like a job now.
I'm excited, and scared, and nervous, and exhilarated, and happy.