Dilemma

I realize that I have all but given up on fiction. Oh, in my heart, I still love it, and I still want to write it.

I just don't know if there is any point to doing so.

These days I find myself focused on earning income, and economic and social survival, and keeping up with increasing household tasks. And, sadly, writing for fun gets pushed to the bottom of my list.

I am so busy with busyness, and so busy with "working". I spend every minute trying to either tackle my to-do list or create products that sell for my clients. Secretly, I'm convinced that there's no career future to be made in the sort of fiction that comes naturally to me. I love it. Maybe two hundred others out there would too.

Is that enough?

Part of me says that it is. Part of me is still pushing myself to write. To get up earlier. To stay up later. To blow off the chores and even the clients. But the guilt either way is incredible.

I read a story once, "Mockingbird", where the lead character was a painter facing death. He said something like, Having a little talent is a terrible thing.

I know just what he means. Put in the effort and time to grow the talent? Or let it lie fallow and dormant while pursuing necessary life?

Sometime today I have to decide if this spark within me should stay banked or if I should sign up for another round of mentoring, which I know from experience means I will produce new pieces. Hmm.