I’m right in the inchoate stage of a novel at the moment.

It’s occupying my every thought while I’m driving, or watching tv.

It occupies every second when I’m not actively thinking or doing something else.

I wish I had more time that I could devote to getting my words on paper.

That I could write all week long, create, and explore all the worlds and people that long to become real.

I tell myself I wouldn’t enjoy writing full time, that if it was all I did, it would become a job before too long,

that maybe the well of creativity would run dry.

But then I wonder, is that true?

Or are those the things a dreamer scared of living the dream says?

Settling for close enough?

Almost?

I can’t reconcile the full truth, but if nothing else, it makes me realize how very lucky I am.

My hobby makes me question my day job, but my day job fuels my hobby.

For now at least,

one inspires and refreshes the other in a way that I can sustain.

And that’s living the dream