A year ago I quit my job and moved to the Maritimes where I now write. My situation is somewhat artificial – I have a partner with a job that pays twice the average salary of where we live, I have the ability to go back to my old job should the need, financial or personal, arise – but it’s still my situation of which to take advantage.
So I write more now. Maybe I’m getting better. Maybe the big break is around the corner soon. Or maybe, more likely, I’ll just keep going along slowly without any huge payoff, which doesn’t seem as disheartening as it would have ten, five, even one year ago. I think about the quietness of living here. There’s a beauty to toiling in obscurity, of having the privilege of toiling in obscurity that I hadn’t guessed before.