Okay, maybe not the sunset. Not yet, anyway.
Maybe just early to mid twilight. My question is aimed at writers over fifty who still work toward and dream of success. What gives you the courage to keep going? What do you do when you are tempted to quit?
I've been writing since age six and I think I've got the basics down pretty well by now. (One of the perks of getting old is that I am suppossed to have all this inate wisdom and crap. I really don't but nobody has to know...)
I've only been seeking publication for the past few years, because it's taken me that long to figure out that I may have some good stories to tell. And the few partials and queries I've sent out so far were typewritten. *shudder at what an embarressing hot mess that was!*
So here I am, subbing one and working on one on the computer, and planning several others and it's a good place to be.
I do think of quitting sometimes and I always tell my old man that if I become a vegetable and can't write anymore, just put me down. He has graciously agreed.
So where are you with all this, you writers that also sight the winter of your life rushing toward you at breakneck speed? How do you
handle this?
Maybe just early to mid twilight. My question is aimed at writers over fifty who still work toward and dream of success. What gives you the courage to keep going? What do you do when you are tempted to quit?
I've been writing since age six and I think I've got the basics down pretty well by now. (One of the perks of getting old is that I am suppossed to have all this inate wisdom and crap. I really don't but nobody has to know...)
I've only been seeking publication for the past few years, because it's taken me that long to figure out that I may have some good stories to tell. And the few partials and queries I've sent out so far were typewritten. *shudder at what an embarressing hot mess that was!*
So here I am, subbing one and working on one on the computer, and planning several others and it's a good place to be.
I do think of quitting sometimes and I always tell my old man that if I become a vegetable and can't write anymore, just put me down. He has graciously agreed.
So where are you with all this, you writers that also sight the winter of your life rushing toward you at breakneck speed? How do you
handle this?
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