He was a small-town boy with big city dreams.
Life on the family farm is a hard slog. Out of bed at dawn and working like a dog until sundown. Sometimes during the growing season we are all up half the night spraying. And for what? A few dollars maybe? There had to be a better life than this.
Well, here he was, in New York no less, making his dreams come true. Sort of.
Now don’t get me wrong, it is not a lack of hard work or dedication. A Wordsworth always puts 100% into everything they do. But sometimes hard work just doesn’t get the success it deserves. There are thousands of aspiring authors just like him trying for various reasons to hit the big time.
But time is running out on this dream of his. If the target is not hit by the end of next year there is no option but to give it all up and go back to the farm and forget forever this dream of being a world-famous author. That was the deal. That is why his father is supporting him out of his own pocket for this three-year hiatus.
All was riding on this. If he could only earn enough then his dad could sell the old farm and retire in comfort, if he didn’t then he would have to go back to being a farm laborer and help his dad out until he inherited it himself. No time for frivolity then boy. Running the farm without dad will be no joke.
But here we are two years in, thousands of hours of study and note-taking. Books on writing, courses on writing, writers groups joined, even correspondence with a couple of real authors. We have a few essays and a couple of short novels nobody seems to want.