On Mother's Day, my mom said to me (as she sat in my apartment post-Mother's Day lunch): "I read the books on the best-seller lists. You can write as well as they can. Why don't you write something so you can get rich and buy a house?"
"Oh, Mom," I said. "I'm not that smart, not on THAT level. And I don't have the free time or the money. I spend all of my energy making a living."
Later that day, after she'd gone, I thought: "I also have nothing to write about: No great love, no interesting travels. Plus: You've got to be able to relax and THINK and let thoughts percolate and coalesce. At 51, after years of living hand to mouth, I now spend all of my energy making a living for fear of having to again temp and live in a one-room apartment." First things first.