Put in probably around ten hours since the last time I came on here.
As you can see, I'm reviewing novels now. If you're interested, check out the section. Caused some ruckus over at KindleBoards.com, but I promise I'm not as big of a dick as the review section makes me out to seem.
Reading my second indie novel ever, and it's much better than the first one.
I'm constantly working, as you can see from my tongue and cheek post a week or so ago. I work fifteen hour days or more, every day. What do I consider work? I consider it anything that is producing a goal that I want--or hopefully producing it. So, literally, my entire day is filled with work. I take maybe a ten minute break when I wolf down food at night, and a ten minute break for lunch, but other than that I work.
My friend told me I was an idiot the other day for working on a Saturday. I told him that if I was still this poor in twenty years, then yes, I most definitely was an idiot for working like this. A lot of people die early from it, and honestly, that's something I worry about. Whether or not these crazy hours will end up shutting down my heart fifteen years earlier than it would have otherwise.
What I worry about more though, is that I won't make it.
Thus, why I put in the hours every day.
I know beyond certainty that I want to write for a living. I want to get paid to write stories and, if need be, market them. This could all come to nothing though, could turn up in twenty more years that I'm still sitting here hammering on a keyboard while the computer screen glows into the night around me, and I'm broke and lonely because I spent my goddamn life working all the time.
Still, even that the thought of being lonely in my end doesn't bother me nearly as much as the thought of not having put in those hours and knowing that I never gave it a try.
I hope being busy, I hope putting in the hours and doing it intelligently, I hope it all means that one day these things will work out.