Sometimes I think that it would be far easier for me as an author where I to be fortunate enough to possess an independent income relieving me of the necessity to engage in paid employment. I leave my flat at around 7:30 am and usually get home between 6:30-7 pm by which time my brain wants to rest and, if I do write the tiredness sits on my shoulders like some giant succubus but without the delightful distractions offered by that mythical creature. On occasions I am able to shake off that guileful demon and write (much of my collection of short stories, The First Time was written in those long, dark winter evenings after work). While I felt a great sense of satisfaction after having spent several productive hours writing into the late evening, on the morrow my body and brain cried out in protest. Consequently most of my writing (other than blog posts) takes place during the weekend when I can sit undisturbed plugging away at my stories.
A good friend who is retired frequently spends the entire morning writing. I am envious of his ability to do this. Long gone is the necessity for him to spend a large portion of his day working for others. My friend is the master of his own time which he uses to good effect.
I would love to be able to write for 4-5 hours a day knowing that I had an independent income to sustain me. No concerns about the need to earn money to pay the bills, just the joy of writing filling my mornings. Having said that my participation in the world of work gives me a wider perspective on the world. There have been writers (some of them great) who have possessed independent means relieving them of the necessity to work. However participation in the hurly burly of society as opposed to being cloistered in the library of one’s house on a country estate furnishes the author with a broader understanding of the world with all it’s foibles, but if anyone wants to leave a landed estate to me in their will I will, reluctantly accept the bequest (it would be rude to do otherwise)!