I quit my job to write for a year and yesterday was day one and it was MAGIC to wake up and do what I want to do, what I am passionate about, what makes me feel alive and good and happy and horrible but also alive, did I mention alive? It feels like nothing less than magic. I am sitting here at my home desk at 7:40 am and there are sparks and spells and incantations flying all around me and getting into my bowl of chocolate Chex. Obviously I am so lucky that I can make this magic happen. I have a husband who trusts me and a government that thinks health care is a right not a privilege and I had a steady job for five years that allowed me to save and save and save until I could just barely afford to make this work and yes I will be eating rice and lentils A LOT but I already eat rice and lentils A LOT so it's fine it's fine it's really mostly fine fine fine fine not fine not fine at all what have I done???? OH NO NO the panic -- there it is! It hides beneath the surface of my skin like fascia and like fascia I only think about it when it starts to hurt, like when I went out for dinner last night and ate cheaply but it still took up 15% of my monthly food budget and I'm only into the first week of the month and OWWW OWW OWW that hurts! That's panic! But it's still magic. Magic always hurts a bit. Have you seen Lord of the Rings? Beauty and the Beast? Fantasia? Harry Potters one through seven? Magic and pain go together. So in case you're wondering why this post is so choppy with little caution for punctuation it's because time is money right now, more than ever, and I have to finish a screenplay and draft one of my new novel or this one-year period will feel less like magic and more like regret.