A year ago this past June, I couldn’t handle my management job anymore. I had been promoted from within a department that had gone without direct supervision for several years. It had no Policies and Procedures, no progressive discipline, even no employee review until I had become manager. My supervisory stream’s motto was “We are not going to go to labor court.” Unknown to me at the time, I even had an employee who had sex with another department manager in her work cubicle, then told her coworkers (please sue me for saying this, Employee; I will subpoena your cuckold and your other guy too).
But the manager job paid more than I thought I would ever make working in video production. After seven years on the job, I had paid off my car, had no debt, and lots of money in the bank. My parents’ estate was liquidated, and I received even more money.
I wanted to be a writer.
Hans Gruber in “Die Hard” tells us of Cortez, who burned his ships to cement his commitment to success.
I quit. Flat-out quit. I’d been living off savings until this summer. Now I got a job at a Major Big-Box Store Chain as a sales associate and rented a room from a friend.
This is all to further my writing.
I am fifty years old, and frankly this is My One Big Shot At Success.
Since quitting, I finished a horror novel, polished a fantasy fiction novel, drafted most of another fantasy fiction novel, and wrote a few short stories, and helped to establish a new publishing imprint.
I am down to 1/3 of my original amount. I am at a net loss every month. Moving and getting a job has staunched the flow by about ½.
I do have a retirement fund which WILL NOT BE TOUCHED.
There are days when I could be more productive. However, when I consider I would have lived in my car rather than stay in my manager job, I feel I did the right thing.
Many good things are in the works. I will tell all as evidence of those things accumulates.
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