Please excuse me while I rant.
I have reached the conclusion that being a writer is one of the most miserable things to be, albeit my favorite thing to be.
See, my issue with being a writer, isn’t that I hate to write, it’s that I love it. It’s that it fills my mind until there isn’t room for anything else. I’m tired of going to school. The information I gather is pointless, because all I pick up is what does this teacher like and dislike and what is the bear minimum I have to store in my temporary memory in order to pass the test. I hate it. I just want to write. To create. I have all these stories and all these characters and it means so much more to me than anything my teachers can say (no offense to them, they are lovely people).
Bottom line, I don’t want to get a degree. I’m having to take out so many loans, I’ll be destitute the second I finish. I can’t afford school, so why am I being pushed through it at my own expense?? My family can’t/won’t help me pay for it, yet the second I express interest in pursuing my dream everyone flips and acts like I just said, “I want to date Satan.”
I want to work a common place, entry-level job, write, and compose music. Is that really such a wicked thing? Don’t we need people willing to do things like that in order to function as a society? Sure, saying “I want to be a waitress!” might sound unambitious to people, but I’m not saying that, am I? I’m saying, “I want to be a writer and a musician, and I want to supplement that with a humble position that will give me income until I am successful.”
I’m done here.