On a not entirely unrelated note, I read recently that Matthew Reilly has earned approximately $4 million dollars from the book and film sales of his first four books.

Matthew Reilly is 29 years old and Sydney born and resident.

I am 28 years old and Sydney born (though not currently resident.)

Work it out. It's not the be all and end all aim, but fuck, it's certainly a position to aspire towards. But hey, I'd be happy with 1/50th of that cash, and do nothing but write.

That's what it's all about of course. Total financial and creative freedom. Doing what I want to do all the time, because there's nothing else I really want to do.

Waiting on the results of another job interview last week... this would be a good one if I get it. Sydney. Better money. Better career. New challenges + things I already like.

Sometimes I just don't know what's wrong with me though. My writing is going nowhere, not because it's no good, but because I'm just getting nothing done. There's all kinds of reasons: illness, winter blues, generally depressed/pissed off about where I am and what I'm doing, but in some ways, there's no excuse at all.

Hell, other people can do it. People write stuff everyday online, for no money at all. Just to be seen. I'm probably getting seized up with a success/lack of success paranoia now - investing the desperate desire to succeed into every attempt, rather than just enjoying the act of writing itself.

I have to just shape the fuck up and work this out. Get back on the horse. Part of the problem is that when you stop, you often don't know when to start again. I have to say "screw this shit. I will begin again, and I just won't stop."

Maybe I just need some relaxation exercises... I don't know...

I can do this. I know I can do this.

I will do this.