Feeling pretty gutted this morning as I sat down and talked financials with the other members in my house (Mrs. Jackson and her mom). The reality is, writing isn't paying me enough to treat it like a part time job.
For about a year, I became a mercenary of part-time; I was writing commissions and subscription work, substitute teaching, and cheffing/restaurant managing. Subbing was inconsistent. The kids didn't want a sub that cared. So I skedaddled.
That left writing and restaurant work. Writing has been the most fulfilling work I've had. But it's not paying. I'm working my ass off to produce on multiple sights, to multiple separate audiences. But it's just not paying me for the work I'm putting in. It's just not.
So I'm biting the bullet and chasing it down with a kick to my pride. I'm going back to restaurant work for (mostly) full time.
For my ADHD, it makes it feel like I'm giving up on the dream of being able to do this as a real hope of a job. It feels like admitting defeat, and demoting this back to a hobby.
I'm not fully quitting, but it feels like I'm stitching up a dream and putting a helmet back on to get back in my trench.
It feels like I'll never leave Harlan alive.
Maybe I was naive (I was definitely naive) thinking it was a good time for me to go to part-time working so I could build up this little business I was working on. I was hoping if I treated it like a part time job, it would become one. That I could work for myself for and for someone else less. That didn't happen.
And oh, the self-doubt that puts in me! Maybe I'm not a good writer. Maybe my product just isn't worth the subscriptions. Maybe you're just not likable enough, Chris.
“How fucking dare you think you could crawl out of the restaurants that made you?” It feels like going back to a narcissistic father because I dared to dream that I didn't need it before I really was ready to fly.
Maybe some day, it'll be my time. But come June, my little gap year of backpacking across Europe is over.
