After seven years, the time has come to stop dreaming
In the cold and dark real world of this writer, the wages of SIN - what I make from writing - are $0.10c a day.
The bottom line here is I stopped caring if I wrote, or what I wrote, years ago.
Why should I drive myself like a demon as I once did, when there's nothing at the end for me?
The only time I made money writing, was the few months I was a ghostwriter