It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

For those long time readers, you know I often refer to October as Writetober. October is chock full of writing experiences and this is the time of year my writer brain kicks into fourth (not much to do outside, so time starts freeing up, however many years of living on a school calendar, it's my favorite time of year, etc).

This week is the start of the next Viable Paradise workshop. Four years after my own experience and a lot of my class mates have made break throughs. I'm still on the mailing lists so I get to see all the hope and excitement of the new class and the well wishes of those of us who have been through it. Thursday night on the island and you'll never be the same.

Next weekend is also a writers' retreat with a bunch of friends, the first of which I won't be able to attend since I started to be invited (it's not the first retreat I've had to say no to, but this is the retreat I was first invited to and I worked hard to go to all of them, including one when I was out of work and it's not an entirely inexpensive experience). I already miss everybody that will be there. And I miss the 10,000 words or so I normally get out during the weekend. There is this feeling of homesickness when I linger on not being able to go.

This summer when I was looking into MBA programs, another course of action I was seriously considering was to drop this reboot thing all together and throw myself deeper into writing. The unfortunate thing about that, and what keep coming up, is that while I've had minor successes, no money has flowed in from my writing. And this reboot is about keeping money (and benefits) flowing. Our lives weren't supposed to be like this. We actually planned for my wife's job to provide most of the income and security which left me to be able to take the risks I would need to grow my career. When life decided to kick us down I had to shift to a more safe path (well, I didn't have to, but facing low probabilities of success and lower-income made those risker propositions even riskier).

Writing is my risky proposition. There is a low chance of success, and (at least at the beginning) the high possibility of low returns even if there is success. But it was something I could attempt and find some success. And I miss it. I miss it terribly.