I have been pouring alot of myself and my time into a short story submission for a possible upcoming collection and it's been grueling working myself at a new heavy pace, on top of clocking in and out with full-time hours at my straight job. Every other part of life has quietly snuck by as all of my focus is sucked into these two pursuits. It has been a true grind and could soon finish me off.
I fought to get part-time hours, which will happen towards the end of the year, so that I could pursue writing and comics with more energy, time, and devotion, but the question of whether or not I will be able to scrape out a living with reduced hours is out to jury. Then again, the question of whether or not a nice comfy paycheck at work and safe cushy surroundings are worth doing something I can barely tolerate, and which consumes so much of my waking hours has already been answered. I can't, and that was decided the minute I began producing all the pieces which decorate this page, so I shouldn't second-guess it, I suppose. Even if nothing ever comes of it, its always better to try and to push, than it is to live with the regret and wonder of how far you could have taken it. That seems to me the weakest, most uninspired route to tread in this world.
It's hard not to think this way when what you want to do in life reveals no clear path to itself. I think anyone who wanted to be a part of this field at sometime understood this. There is no step-by-step 1-2-3 method of getting there. It's a real fractured road, and the life you strive to make for yourself is invisible to most others. The drain these others put on you seems nearly impossible to recover from, but in the end, you do. To not let the concerns of the average person become your concerns is one of the hardest fucking things in the world; and, I've come to know, one of the most vital.