My friends, who are engineers and doctors, work so hard they have no time to spend what they make and they’re envious of how I work just enough to afford life but spend most of my days doing what I love but, sometimes, I’m disgusted by myself because who am I to think I’m better than the thousands of capable authors who’ve failed and to work nights (so I can write during the day) and miss birthdays and Mets games and trips my service job can’t afford and meeting the next love of my life (because I’m too in love with imaginary characters) but, sometimes, my self-disgust disgusts me because what’s the point of all this if I don’t believe in myself; and at least my friends, who are consultants and managers, are unhappy and rich while I’m unhappy and poor and, maybe, the moral of this breakdown is that everyone’s unhappy or, maybe, it’s that I should stop thinking so much about being a writer and start writing.

Bela Seitz is a graduate of Vanderbilt University who (you guessed it) works nights on Broadway to afford being a writer. Her work can be found in, among others, the Under Review, About Place Journal, Little Old Lady Comedy Magazine, the Worlds Within, and Big Muddy.