Years ago I had a hamster named Pinky Bear. I had a nice cage for her, and I only ever got her the premium food, but none of that seemed to impress her. She was always trying to escape, and if I ever forgot to close the door to her cage, watch out.
The cage was on top of my barrister bookcase, and it was a long drop down to the floor. That was kind of beside the point, however, because hamsters can’t see very well, and she had no way of knowing if the drop was a short one to a soft landing or a long one to a hard smack. Furthermore, hamsters are quite fragile, and falls are a leading cause of death for them.
None of that held back Pinky Bear, though. Every chance she got, she would climb over the edge of the door and lower herself down to the bottom of the wires till she was just hang on with her back feet. Then, with her little paws stretched out into nothing, she would let go, perfectly willing to risk injury or death, for freedom.
For her, premium food or not, anything was better than life in a cage.
Also years ago, though not quite as long ago as Pinky Bear, when I first started posting to this weblog, my very first entry lamented the fact that I still went in to a day job. I pointed out that Cortez, when embarking on his adventure into the unknown of South America, had burned his ships to eliminate the option turning back. I was jealous.
My lamentations at the time were not because of the necessity of a day job. In fact, it wasn’t necessary. It was, however, safe. My disappointment was with my own seeming lack of courage. Where Cortez bravely torched his ships and set off into the unknown with brazen courage and ultimate faith in his skills, I did the opposite. I professed skills and confidence, but in the end I stayed with the safety of the day job. And I wished for the courage of my convictions.
No more.
A few days ago, I served notice at the day job: June 30th will be my last day. Beginning July first, I will be writing and promoting my books full-time. At last.
I’ve been at that job for more than eleven years, so it’s a big change. This is the right time, though, for lots of reasons. For one thing, the day job has become uncertain, unimaginative, uninspired, and nearly intolerable. For another thing, we have money put away and invested, and the economy seems to be stabilizing, so I won’t have insane pressure to make the writing pay off or else. Even if I wasn’t focusing on writing, I would want to move to another job. In the end, that may be what I am doing, just with a daydream in between.
But I am going to try very hard not to let that happen. I am going to try very hard to make my writing become the financial foundation of my life. It will be an exciting year, and if I do it right, I can keep doing it forever. I want to do it right.
At last, the writing will really matter. The quality and quantity and process and results–it will all matter for the first time in a very long time, maybe ever.
This move, this transition, at this time–it might be a mistake, but I don’t think so. I think all the pieces are aligned. I have books. I have ideas. I have skills. I have an infrastructure. New opportunities and publishers and venues open up every month. In a sense, there’s never been a better time to be a writer. On the other hand, there are no guarantees.
Maybe I’ll succeed, or maybe I’ll fail. I don’t know. And right now, I’m not even sure I care. I don’t want a guarantee; I just want to try. It will be an exciting year, a daring and crazy adventure. And who knows, it just might work.
But even if I crash and burn, anything’s better than life in a cage.
Pinky Bear, I think, would be proud.