Philip Hornsey <74053.2101@compuserve.com> asks:
> How many years did you have to worry about where the next meal
> was comming from, and how many times did your *mind* tell you
> that you were an idiot for trying to be a writer instead of
> getting a "straight" job, while your heart wouldn't let you try
> something else?

Quite true. During the period where I was working to break in
as a writer, I earned maybe $3,000 a year tops. I used my little
income to buy writing supplies instead of food...at one point, at 6'4"
I was down to about 155 pounds. Maybe a bit less. I was getting by on
beef jerky and soda because I couldn't afford real food. (Water
would've been cheaper than soda, but I needed the sugar rush to get my
energy level up enough to write; with the result that by the time I
crashed at night I had the shakes from lack of food and the sudden
sugar drop.)

Everyone told me to forget it, to take a regular job, and let
the writing wait. But I knew that if I did this...I'd never get out.
It was all or nothing.

So yeah, I paid my dues. And then some. And if you pay your
dues, and you work hard, and you keep to your vision, and you have
something roughly resembling talent...sometimes things work out. They
did.

jms