Sometimes I worry about this chosen career path I am walking. I worry because there are so many of us. So many aspiring to reach the same goal.
Can we all possibly get there? Are there enough seats for all of us at this table?
I guess it is more like a party than just one table, isn’t it?
Some of us want to be seated at the table with the little guys. Indie and self published. Happy to just write and have anyone read their work. And that table is a huge table.
Then there is the blogging table. Seats reserved for those who blog relentlessly and consistently. High quality. Advertiser friendly. You can make a living at this table. It is hard work but so are the rest of the tables.
There is the journalist table. A serious table. A fearless table. A sometimes devilish table. All butter knives gone from the table cloth to be hidden on the seated’s laps.
A poet table. Its occupants on swings not chairs. Nibbling on fairy bread and sipping whiskey tea…
There is the hobby table. Full of gorgeous souls who just want to bleed. They love the act of typing down thoughts. Some of them will move on to a different table. Some will leave the party entirely, ditching for a new party that opened up down town.
But that other table. Small. Up high on the cliff. Why there is a cliff in a party, I don’t know. But it seems like a precarious climb. This one only has limited seating.
This is the table I wish to be seated at.
I could lie and say I’d be happy at another table, but it would be just that… a lie.
So, I continue my climb. I hope you do too…