All day, every day, I sit and work and go through meetings through a screen, and I send other people messages and work some more, all the while looking outside the window and thinking whether I could stop all that and write. I have done that before, however; I tried that life. Now, if I meet someone who wants to write, and if they think of quitting their job or business or whatever else puts food on the table and keeps the lights on, I tell them it won’t work that way, no.
First of all, a writer does not need any time to write. They do, however, need time to read. Then, they need to eat, to splurge on whatever their choice of beverage—or poison—is, and to live in a place—which could be a home, a hostel or whatever puts a roof over their head. For all of that, they need something to pay the bills with, and that sometimes is the first thing that often gets the axe. I know now: if you’re going to be a writer, you’re going to have to write, but if you’re going to always be a writer, you’re going to need a job, and yes, I am playing fast and loose with the word, and all I mean is you’re going to need something that brings the money in. Only then can you write without worry when the refrigerator is stocked, and there are snacks on the shelf, and when you write without worry, you write well. The words flow carelessly—that is how you want them to flow.
And if you don’t have time to write now and then, fret not, don’t worry about it; this is a marathon, and most die running before they reach the finish line. Be blessed; every moment you get when you are not writing is a moment you can later write about. That is the trick of the trade. When a writer sits at a desk to write, he writes, but usually, it takes time to reach the desk. Sometimes it takes a few hours, sometimes, it takes days, but often, it takes a good night’s sleep, and, which is more, all of that time eventually ends up on the page. Nothing is ever wasted. The whole profession is built on the backs of the scrappiest of scoundrels, splurging seconds like sultans.