As I was trying to fall asleep last night this thought came to me--- How do you know when you've crossed the line from positive thinking and dreaming big, to kidding yourself and becoming delusional? Common sense tells me that I should believe all those publishing professionals who say it's damn near impossible to make a living from writing fiction. So why do I cling to the fantasy that if I work really hard, and write really good stories, eventually it will happen? I suppose the answer is obvious, I've spent most of life in a make believe world where good stuff happens to nice people and bad stuff only happens to the mean icky people (nevermind that I made them up too.)
Another thought has occurred to me. What number constitutes making a living? If all those experts are talking about fifty grand a year, then yeah, that's a bit high for most writers. I make half that working part time as a grocery clerk. (Don't take this personally grocery shoppers, but I don't want to wait on you anymore.) So here's my plan, I'll convince my husband that he needs a new hobby, such as becoming one of those extreme couponing freaks who get a 1,000 dollars worth of groceries for free. (He'll only be allowed to go through the lines of clerks I don't like.) This would save us ten thousand a year. Then I'd only need to earn fifteen thousand a year from my writing.
This still seems a bit steep. I've got it! It's brilliant. I'll put out an ad to all the women who read my upcoming erotic story, bragging that the hero is actually my husband, and then I'll sell thousand dollar raffle tickets. The winner will get one night with him. Surely this will bring in another fourteen thousand a year. If my math is correct, I now only need to earn one thousand dollars from my writing this year. I can do this! This is great, perfect, amazing. Or am I becoming delusional?