No, this isn’t a reference to the goppingly awful Hannah Montana song. I mean it very literally.
As much as I would like to devote the entirety of my time to writing, it simply isn’t feasible unless you have a few million sitting in your bank account. So I keep myself going by being a barista. Yes, the budding writer who is a barista, I am indeed a walking cliché.
I work in a small, independent cafe in Keynsham (God, I am sounding more hipster by the moment) and I am there five days a week. Unfortunately it is quite demanding and usually leaves exhausted at the end of a day, which leaves almost no time to sit and to think about writing or editing.
Trying to achieve a balance between what I have to do and what I want to do is proving exceedingly difficult as I have so many ideas for poems and for stories that I just don’t have sufficient time to sit and hammer out because of having to work. Of course, I can’t give myself more time for writing at the expense of having reliable income.
I would never want to give up writing, no less than a sportsman wanting to make it big in their chosen field and faced with the same dilemma. And I’ve seen a lot of people starting to give up hope with it, something I couldn’t bare happening.
Does anyone else get like that? Ending up at that point where you feel you have to choose between aspiration and reality? If so, how do you cope with it?
Let me know.