Fourteen years ago, at the end of a successful professional career, I decided to become a writer and, as a typical engineer, I devised a plan!
Some would say it worked. I have fifteen published works to my name and pseudonym, have benefited from the services of ten editors and eight publishers, seen my stories featured in mass circulation magazines, signed a film rights contract for one story and learned to handle rejection and acceptance with equal aplomb.
Yet I worry occasionally when I look at the dwindling years of my life and count the cost of continuing to write.
It's a selfish profession, demanding great chunks of time and rewarding niggardly in everything but self satisfaction at the cost of the ones you hold dear (not unlike any other addiction). I sometimes ponder "going cold turkey" and walking away from it, but always find myself back at the computer recording yet another story idea or polishing some passage of prose to within an inch of its existence.