Today I received a cheque for a lot of money from Pan Macmillan and an enormous weight feels like it's lifted from my shoulders. The amount of money I just put into my bank account isn't far from being the same as I made working all of last year working part-time as a graphic designer/mac operator in order to support my writing.
I could call myself semi-pro, which is technically more accurate, since I make only part of my living from my writing (for the foreseeable future, he said, feet firmly nailed to ground). But whatever I call myself, it's a pity I didn't sit down sooner to try and write a book, say in the early Nineties.
I do want to put a big chunk of my cash towards a mortgage, but now that the money is there I suddenly don't feel in so much of a rush. I still like living in the area I live in, very much so. It's just that I can't actually afford to buy anywhere around here. So perhaps what I'll do is just sit back and wait for something really good to turn up. I've got all the time in the world, after all.
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