I just realized something. In a few months it’ll be 20-years since that time I quit a perfectly fine job to chase my dream of becoming a writer.
This happened to be my second job out of college after getting laid off from the first one in the aftermath of the dot com bubble. It was a perfect storm, really. I’d just broken up with my girlfriend of two years, several friends had recently quit their jobs as well and seemed to be living the good life, and after four years with my company, I’d about had it with my job and the overbearing supervisor it came with.
But I still probably wouldn’t have quit if not for something else.
A few weeks before giving my notice, I was lying alone in my Culver City studio apartment when it suddenly came to me, an ending for my story. Or at least the ending to part one of my story…