Recently I pulled up stakes from my job and life in the foothills of the Appalachians and moved back down to Florida where I could breathe salt air and my dog's feet wouldn't freeze to the pavement every time we went out in the winter.
Do you see that? A 35-pound Carolina Dog in a pink sweater. It's undignified.
Rosey's taken very well to the heat and humidity of Tampa Bay in the dead of summer, and I have to say I don't really mind it either. What I do mind is...well...my job. I moved here for a new job, and while it's not *hard* or anything, it's pretty tedious. It's certainly been a stark reminder that I don't want to do this for the rest of my life, and it's time to get serious about my writing career. So I'm on a two year plan as of August 2014. Within two years I intend to be supporting myself by writing and leaving my day job behind.
It won't be easy. This new schedule of mine is even more difficult to write around than the old one. But I've moved to the middle of nowhere, which is great because it means no social obligations and very little in the way of distractions. It's just me and the mosquitoes and a dog who's no longer wearing an embarrassing sweater.
Plus, you know, two years of hard work to achieve freelance status. I've totally got this.
