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Sep. 8th, 2003 10:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sakon76I love my parents. I know they love me. That does not, however, mean that we understand one another in our entireties. While I grant that their viewpoints have basis (I am nine years out of high school and still not finished with college or holding down a gainful career-type job), I still really really hate it when they treat my writing--something I have been obsessed with and serious about since I was ten and they well know this--as something for which the quantification of the end result is desirable. In short, they want me to be able to make a living at it.
It's not that I wouldn't love to do that, but I know the odds. The reason J.K.Rowling or Stephen King are so amazing is that they beat the odds... they not only manage to eke out a living on their writing, they have become freaking wealthy and famous.
For the most part, tellers of tales are anonymous and poor. While I don't think this is how the world should be, this is how the world is.
I do this because I love it with a bone-deep soul-deep passion, and for no other reason.
It's not that I wouldn't love to do that, but I know the odds. The reason J.K.Rowling or Stephen King are so amazing is that they beat the odds... they not only manage to eke out a living on their writing, they have become freaking wealthy and famous.
For the most part, tellers of tales are anonymous and poor. While I don't think this is how the world should be, this is how the world is.
I do this because I love it with a bone-deep soul-deep passion, and for no other reason.
