Writing is a selfish act. Maybe not the most selfish but pretty darn close. (Did I actually write darn?) Of the occupations which could be considered selfish (and un-lucrative), I'd place writing up there with narcissism and politics. Oh, right. Narcissism isn't an occupation; it's more a pre-occupation. True, too, most members of Congress are millionaires.That confirms it. Writing is the most selfish and un-lucrative.
It's selfish because I get to daydream and not care about whether I shower. Or clean the kitchen. Or swab the toilets. I'm too busy chasing plot lines and figuring out ways to make my characters a little bit more interesting. I love them. In deeply complex ways. They are people I think about only a fraction less than real flesh-and-blood types.
I snap out of it a little during the holidays, hence my lack of posts in December. But I'm still writing in my head. Thinking about words and phrases for later. Scribbling notes to myself to change a scene or to add a line of dialogue. Writers talk about the "glaze" they get when they're doing this. "Are you listening?" is a question I get frequently when I have trouble turning off the spin cycle upstairs, and I'm not talking about laundry. (Can you tell I'm past the honeymoon with my dirty socks?)
Another comment I hear is "Oh, you're gonna make a million bucks." I nod. And laugh. Then cry a little on the inside because those chances are about as good as me becoming president. Wait. I think I could actually become president. A published author? Mmm, maybe. I'll keep you posted.