I spent my day working though I didn’t tell anybody that’s what I was doing. On one of my few days off for a while, I should have been doing laundry, cleaning the kitchen and vegging out for a while.
My problem? I really don’t like to do that last one. If I’m not doing something, anything, to get me to my goals, I feel like I’ve wasted my day. Some people might think that makes me a workaholic but I don’t. It makes me driven and ambitious and unwilling to just roll over and accept that this is all life has to offer.
I feel like a fish, sometimes; if I’m not moving, I’m dying.
Today, I wrote. Yesterday, I made the cover for the story I’m writing.
Every story finished, every book published, is just one more step forward towards my dream of financial independence from my art.
And apologies for not posting the next 500 words from my story. They are distinctly not safe for work.