“This is a war.”
When I quit my job they asked me where I was going to. I replied I was going to write. I received a pitying look in response, as if I hadn’t yet figured out how the world worked. As an unemployed writer I would sleep during the day, working all night finishing my novel, drinking black coffee and smoking roll-ups. Sometimes I’d walk the haunted streets and woods of old Highgate. At the time I felt impoverished, perhaps a little trapped by my choices, but responsible for it. Looking back I only remember feeling utterly free.
A courageous move and really, I think it feeds a creative person to have that sort of freedom even if only for a short time. Work, while necessary, can be a real drag! *laughing*