“Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money.” –Jules Renard

I swear, some days that quote is all that keeps me going. As an author only just beginning to hone his craft and work toward publication, I’ve taken on a full-time job for no pay. And that’s on top of the full-time job I already feel I have: dealing with my illness.

The combination of these occupations gives others the impression I have a lot of free time on my hands, while it gives me an ulcer. Well, maybe it’s giving me an ulcer. It could just be the coffee kicking back.

When you tell someone you’re a writer, but then it comes out you have yet to see a dime for your struggles, you’re lucky if you don’t get a roll of the eyes. “Oh, I see. Well, good luck with that,” they say, then wonder why you don’t get a real job.

Other writers get it, of course, which is probably why a lot of writers end up with mostly other writers for friends. They’ve been there. They know what it’s like. They know writing seriously is a full-time occupation, rising to the level of obsession, and ruling your day at least as much as any nine-to-five gig.

In fact, nine-to-five is starting to sound pretty cushy to me lately.

Am I the only one wondering what the hell they were thinking getting into this racket?