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Now, I don’t want to sound too prideful just after spouting a statement as shameless as, “I plan to continue living for another 50 years,” so I do consider it my own form of modesty to add that those 50 years will not be spent making a living as a novelist.

Don’t take that as me saying something romantic like such a world would be too sweet for me, however. The reality is, there is no such sweet world anywhere on this Earth. Be it an inventor, a craftsman, an athlete, or an entertainer, anyone in a specialized industry wants to claim that their work is by far the hardest. I’m much more self-aware than them, however, and I can claim with confidence that any feeling of specialness is purely an illusion. Every job in every industry goes through the same difficulties. There are differences in level of responsibility, contribution to society, and salary, but otherwise it’s all the same daily grind. The classic Japanese saying that there’s no distinction between occupations is not just a nice saying, but a generally true statement. Anybody who’s actually worked would understand, because at the end of the day, no matter what you do, you’re just one person being used by another person.

It’s worth mentioning that such a philosophy doesn’t apply to inhumane, manual labor, however.

The world of novelists in which I spent (dedicated would probably be too strong of a word) my twenties has all the same struggles and difficulties as any other industry, and is just as ordinary. Continuing in that same ordinary world for another 50 years is a bit too much of an ask, and something I would probably refuse sooner than not if asked.

It would be the death of me.

Saying that may brand me as a coward with no sense of morals, but I can’t risk my life on creative work. I want to live another 50 years. Being called an unwilling coward would be a compliment if it meant I got to achieve that goal.

Others might hesitate to say what I’m about to say out of fear of being misunderstood, but creative works are entirely premised on talent. The ever-present boundary between an amateur and a professional is the constant shift of a skill turning from praiseworthy to average. It’s frustrating and disheartening to keep running into the same walls you used to as an elementary schooler, but again as an adult. I’ve seen countless newcomers with more talent than me give up because they couldn’t take the pressure… Okay, that was a lie. Everything I just said. A rather shameless act to glorify the novel industry and make it feel like I’m in some kind of special position. There’s no real boundary between amateurs and professionals. I don’t want to resort to using the same blasé sayings that any armchair author could spout.

In my experience, whatever that may be worth, I haven’t seen a single novelist rise up in the last ten years due to their talent. Experience, effort, determination, and luck are all that make it. That’s the kind of salt-of-the-earth stuff that makes a novelist.

Of course, there are talented people, and there always have been, but I think it all plays out the same, in the end.

And what about me?

I’ll admit, I was the kind of guy who wanted to believe he had talent. But I was just as ordinary as any other writer you could find. At the same time, without that belief I wouldn’t have been able to continue on. An author is made by the delusion that they’re special– okay, it may be unfair to drag every other author into that, but that was certainly what made me who I am.

The fact that I could work as a novelist for the past ten years seems like a combination of both coincidence and fate. I worked hard, so I don’t want to write it all off to fate and timing no matter how humble I want to be, but not even I could keep up the claim that my success was entirely due to hard work. I think this is a situation where being moderate fits the best.

For the time being, I’ll just keep doing what I’ve been doing for the last ten years. I’ll walk down the same road, with no clue how far it goes or how long the journey will last, until I reach the end. Although, it’s certainly possible that I won’t reach the end so much as just give up somewhere along the line, and it’s hard to say whether there’s a road to re-employment for someone who spent the past ten years as a novelist.