The Exit Strategy : Trading the 9–5 for a Life of Ink and Imagination

There’s a certain kind of daydream that hits hardest around 2:47 p.m.—when the inbox is overflowing, your coffee’s cold, and your soul quietly whispers, “There’s more than this.”

For me, that whisper has turned into something louder. Not quite a shout, but definitely a persistent hum that doesn’t go away. One that shows up during staff meetings, sparks in traffic, and flickers to life every time I scribble a story idea in the margins of a notebook meant for meeting minutes.

The dream? Simple on paper.
Exit the 9–5. Write full time. Build a world (or ten) out of nothing but words.

I haven’t made the leap just yet. But the ladder’s in place, the bags are half-packed, and the destination is finally in sight.

I’ve carried stories in my head for years—an entire cast of characters waiting patiently while I typed passwords instead of plot twists. Some ideas struck like lightning; others crept in slowly, appearing while folding laundry, grocery shopping, or mid-dream at 3:12 a.m. The genres? All over the map. Sci-fi, fantasy, children’s tales, middle-grade adventures, stories with no labels at all. My mind doesn’t compartmentalize storytelling by age or genre—it simply creates.

And I’ve come to realize… that’s not something to tame. It’s something to trust.

The transition from a structured career to full-time writing might sound idealistic. Some call it a risk. I call it a return—to the work that’s always been mine. Because the real risk? Letting the stories stay shelved. Keeping the characters quiet. Choosing security over soul.

This isn't about suddenly quitting everything and hoping for a book deal before lunch. It’s about building toward something that feels true. It’s about showing up daily—writing between meetings, before breakfast, or after the world goes quiet—and creating space for the thing that lights me up.

Because here's what I know: I don’t want to reach the end of the road wondering what might’ve happened if I had just tried. So I am trying. Slowly, intentionally, unapologetically.

Some writers stay in one lane. That’s beautiful, and it works.
Me? I’m paving a highway—with exits to talking animal kingdoms, cyber realms, magical cities, and quiet neighborhoods where kids learn big lessons in small moments. The road is wide, and I plan to explore every inch of it.

So here I am: still clocking in, still showing up, but with one foot planted firmly in the world I’m building. The world of storytelling. The world I know I’m meant to live in fully—soon.

This is the season of groundwork. Of late nights, wild ideas, and quiet determination. It’s not “someday” anymore. It’s in motion.

I’m on my way.

And I’m writing everything.