The other morning I woke up before my kids and I let them sleep in since they are on summer break. The house was quiet (for once) and I even had control of the TV. So what did I do with this magic time? I worked (sort of).
What I did was write some on Popstars, Friends and Lovers (my second novel), and connect with all the writer/reader people I have met through social media. Technically I guess it was work, but I didn’t do it out of obligation or a need to reach a certain goal. I did it because there was really nothing else I wanted to do more. I’ve reached the mythical place where work isn’t work.
Jeff Foxworthy mentioned this phenomenon once. He talked about having so much fun doing comedy that he couldn’t believe that someone was actually going to pay him to do it. I remember thinking that was a fantastic pie-in-the-sky idea. I didn’t know people who lived like that. I always thought a job was something you had to do, usually something you got stuck doing, and definitely something you complained about doing on a regular basis.
Now writing has fallen into a strange new category for me. It seems too fun to be my “job” but it’s important that I make it my “job”. If I don’t see it as my primary occupation, it can easily be pushed aside and fall off the top of my priority list. It could smother and die under a pile of other stuff.
There are those who might argue that I’m not really working. That I’m just pursuing a hobby or chasing a dream. My writing paycheck couldn’t even support my coffee habit, yet. But they are missing the big picture perspective I have. I can see the next nine novels I will write already sketched out in my head. I can see the growing number of people who have read my first novel and want to read the next (and hopefully more after that). I can see more and more days in my future where I am not working, but I’m having a blast doing what I love doing.