Will I make it as a writer?

That’s the big question, isn’t it? You don’t know me, but I’m betting you’re already thinking, “Nah, get off your unicorn, girl”. Or perhaps you’re one of those rare optimists, you know, the hopers who have more dopamine receptors than the rest of the “sane” people. If you are one of them, I used to be like you. Then I grew up, I stumbled upon life, and now I have a bloody nose because I wasn’t looking at my feet. I tell you; you bump into too many poles if you walk around with your eyes glued to the clouds. The game of weighing my previous expectations against my new realization of what I could actually become was dumbbells of my ankles. I wasn’t happy anymore. Classic, right?

A couple of beaten years later, I realized I spend 8 hours per day building someone else’s dream, then I come back home to wallow about mine.  What if I spent some of that “I suck and I should cry about it” time into actually perusing something that I want more than anything. So what if I don’t get my daily dose of self-petty? What if I ride it thought rather than go with it? If writing felt like a limb and a part of me, I shouldn’t let the hope-eating bacteria get it and then the rest of me without a fight. In every horror movie, there is someone that always survives. The chances of survival was 1 to 100, but if he (usually she) had given up fighting twenty minutes earlier in the movie, there wouldn’t have been that 1%.

So, I decided to suck it up, and do something about what I want. I don’t care if I think my first chapter is toilet paper compared to twilight, which is already toilet paper (I’m being petty cause I’m jealous).  I’ll keep on going and maybe with enough effort, I’ll publish a novel.

So the deal is, I’ll create a poll here. Place your bets. I’ll keep you updated, and we’ll see how this gamble turn out.

N.B. You can vote multiple times, so you can always change your bet.


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