The past several months has seen me undergo a great deal of frustration. As I currently stand, my career as a writer is no closer to taking off than it was when I first started this blog. I find myself in a career wherein I see it as nothing more than a wage. As it stands, whilst there is nothing wrong with that, however I find it incredibly frustrating that I have no passion at all for the job that is essentially paying my bills.
Writing is the desired career for me, my passion, the singular thing that fills me with confidence and pride, the one thing that I know I’m good at. Therefore it becomes soul destroying in a way, to find myself in a career, that whilst good, honest and has a good potential for development, is not exactly what I feel passionate about, nor is it what I desire to do for a living.
The truth is however, it is increasingly hard to have a career as a writer. Self publishing costs can be astronomical, and it is almost impossible to find an agent willing to publish your works, especially as a previously unpublished writer.
So therein I find myself frustrated, yet frustrated in silence. There are countless opportunities out there, career wise, and yet none interest me at all, and it is all because I struggle to find the passion for them, seeing as my passion remains this, and this alone, writing.
Perhaps there may come a time wherein I will find myself either with the finances to be able to self publish on a constant basis, or I my find myself signed up by a publisher, but until that day comes, my frustrations will remain unspoken. Especially since I do not wish to spend my time with my family, venting frustrations that are ever present.
Until next time,