I'm considering chucking up my life here and heading to New York. The excuse is a 10-week writing course. It's a good excuse because there is a germ of honesty in that. The course will help me structure my writing better. It will give me a fairly objective perspective when it comes to the qualitative analysis of my writing. It will tell me how to get out of screenplay writing mode and attempt prose. It will help me find my voice... and tell me how to hold on to it. All of these are very good reasons, enough in themselves.
But the real truth is this. I'm exhausted. I'm exhausted by the constant struggle my writing is becoming because I don't know whose opinion to trust. I'm exhausted with the mediocrity of thought and action. I'm tired of constantly re-evaluating my friendships and tired of finding myself dispirited. I'm tired of seeing the same faces, having the same conversations, the same irritations, the same view from my window. After days of being alone at home, I'm tired of stepping out, only to discover that I haven't missed anything. I'm tired of asking myself the question, "Is this really as good as it gets?"
Thirteen years ago, I'd had the same feelings and they led me to pack my bags and leave a city for good. I haven't looked back even once. Is that the same thing that's happening now? I don't know. I have many more things holding me here than I ever did there. There's love linked to this city, which is a big difference. And it's only a question of 10 weeks give or take.
On the flip side, I will be missing from my job market here for almost three months. At a time when I've started to build an independent clientele who are quite happy to return to me, disappearing on them for three months is not the smartest move. Also, this will be an expensive ten weeks, and I shall return to a bank balance that will not be as much in the black as I'm accustomed to. Then, there's the question of what I shall be doing when I'm not working 12-hour days (almost 60 days) in a city which is unfamiliar at best. The answer, I'm hoping, is not tearing out my hair out of sheer boredom.
Almost everyone I've spoken to about this is extremely supportive of the idea of me going. The thought of getting away for an appreciable period of time makes me happy. To be able to live and work on my craft in the creative center of the world is delicious, even if I get told that my writing sucks. But I'm also wondering if this is my version of a Porsche to ride out my mid-life crisis.