The strange thing about writing full time for a living is that every time you say it you feel a little embarrassed and that translates into no one really believing what you’ve said.
When I had a day job and wrote around it I felt embarrassed about the day job. I’d say I work in a bar but really I’m a writer.
But now I’m just a writer.
But… for how long?
When do I wake up?
Now people ask me what I do and I say I’m a writer but I’m really poor or I’m a writer but maybe not for long or Um yeah I’m actually doing the writing thing at the moment haha yeah weird. Or something else that explains that I’m lucky. Something else that explains I’ve only stumbled upon a dream. Something that explains I went for a walk one day and there was this pot of gold just next to the rainbow. Something that says that I didn’t work really hard. Something that says I just found this. That it was all an accident.
Something that says I’m a writer. But for how long?
A version of this post was sent by email on the 30th June 2019 as part of Internet Care Package – a weekly memoir project in the form of a newsletter. It also includes links to the best things I’ve found on the internet each week and occasional updates on my theatremaking. This blog is a select archive of those emails. Subscribe to get them right in your inbox.
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