I believe that the stress with Mom was the greatest factor in the pain. I also believe that the amount of time that I spend at the computer and the position and the work stress -- which was made worse by that need to be available for Mom's issues -- was a big factor in the pain.
There might have this other thing, too, but it's weird. I had been thinking about it for a while, so it was old news.
Regardless of what other careers I imagined myself in, writing was always there. That's my thing. I love telling stories, I love passing along information and helping other people to get to know things, and I love language.
Five novels, nine feature-length screenplays, two pilots and treatments, contest submissions, and 3622 blog posts over three blogs later, I have made about $100 from it. Some of it was for people, requesting help. They did not pay. (This is very normal.)
There has been a whole journey with that. I remember when I was still young and fresh reading something about how it was impractical for people to have these side creative endeavors, because you did not really have the time for them and you were very unlikely to earn a living from them. Being young and fresh, I did have time and energy. That has gotten a lot harder, with a lot of discouragement along the way.
In 2015 was reading Scott Timberg's Culture Crash: The Killing of the Creative Class, about how a lot of the types of jobs and programs that allowed people to get by long enough to establish themselves in their desired profession were going away. I could see the sense in what he was saying, but not long after people started doing away with paid internships. There were some signs of at least the possibility of more equality of opportunity.
The one that really encouraged me was the ability to submit unsolicited submissions to Amazon Studios. Attempts to get an agent had gone nowhere and I didn't have any connections. Having somewhere to submit seemed like a gift, except everything got turned down so quickly. They did produce projects, but they were all from existing materials, or had come attached to names.
There was really never a chance.
That had struck me earlier, but not that long ago. I might have needed to mourn my writing hopes, except they had already been dead for so long.
It's about how toxic Hollywood is, which in light of the strikes now, yes, there was a lot about how capitalism kills everything. I kind of knew, but it was worse. I started feeling like it was good that I never made it.
I am pretty sure that I could have avoided becoming corrupted by it, but I don't think I would have been able to overcome the system. That would have left me another person who has to walk away to keep their soul, possibly not before becoming utterly burnt out and bitter.
Okay, I got burnt out anyway, differently, but I am mostly not bitter.
That should have been a relief, like "Wow! Close call!"
Nope. I was really angry.
Maybe it hurt more to have the dream be crappy than unobtainable; I'm really not sure. Maybe I just felt too connected to everyone who got in and then suffered for it.
Then, again, looking at the strikes and the greed on the part of the studios, they are not that different from all of the other job creators.
I don't regret the writing. Some of the things that I have felt while writing, and the flow that I have been able to experience... that has been valuable. I know there are times when I entertained people, and times when I touched people and helped them with things through my writing. Numbers are low, but those people are real and I am glad for them.
I might regret ever entertaining the idea that success was really possible. I have some good talents and abilities, but the class I was born into has had more career and economic impact on my life than anything else. The loss of the illusion that I could escape... I knew ways in which the world was bad, a lot, really... but it's worse.
And possibly I just started feeling all of that weight on my right shoulder, and neck, and collarbone.
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