A lament perhaps
Trying to live a literary life is, I suppose, irresponsible. Especially if your efforts and writing bring basically no money. It takes considerable effort to make daily time to read and write, and so much else remains to be done. At times I feel guilty for trying. My books have all been published, for various reasons, with academic publishers. Academic publishers don’t try to sell many copies of an individual book, relying as they do on the long tail philosophy. Most academics have good paying jobs that expect research and writing in return. For the outsider, however, there are other pressing matters. The nine-to-five being the largest among them. And any social organizations you join to keep you sane and connected. Then there’s social media to take your time. And the lawn’s ready for mowing.
I’ve always believed lack of time was (is) a theological problem. I came up with…
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