By John Gilstrap
www.johngilstrap.com
For me, the dream of becoming a full-time writer turned out to be a bad one. My first book, Nathan’s Run, sold very well and a lucrative movie deal followed. Eighteen months later, a second bestseller and a second movie deal convinced me that maybe it was time to walk away from my career as a safety and environmental engineer and do this writing stuff full time. After all, isn’t that the dream of every artist—to get paid full-time for what you’ve always done just for the love of it?
My son was nine years old back then, and this whole adventure was brand new. Here I found myself with a healthy bank account, some minor celebrity and a dream at my doorstep. How could I not walk away from the humdrum world of business? My wife and I moved to a little nicer house, to a better school system, and for the next seven years or so, I lived what was supposed to be my dream.
I should have known early on, though, that I had chosen poorly. Those were the halcyon days of the brand new Internet (at least as far as I was concerned), and AOL had a terrific authors’ room called The Writers Club, where I spent hours chatting with the likes of Tom Clancy, and the then-unknown Harlan Coben, Tess Gerritsen, Lorenzo Carcaterra and our own John Ramsey Miller. On any given day, I spent at least as much time in that chat room as I spent at my computer screen creating the stories that were now the sole means to pay the mortgage. I wasn’t ignoring my responsibilities—I was still churning out books—but I was hungry for company.
Here’s the thing: I am a classic Type A personality. I am an extrovert in the true meaning of the word—I draw energy from being around others. By spending my days in writer’s isolation, I was feeding my creative side while starving my need for social interaction. I made the best of it, turned out four novels and four screenplays for the studios, but I needed change.
The final blow came in 2004, when my baby boy left for college (he just graduated cum laude from Virginia Tech—way to go, Chris!), and my faithful foot-warmer and dear friend Joe (the dog) died at age twelve. My wife and I were truly empty-nesters. My wife had embraced the need for social interaction two years before and gone back to work, so that meant it was literally just me and my imaginary friends knocking around the house all day. It was a loser of a plan.
So, I sought and found a day job again—my wife calls it my big-boy job. I am the director of safety for a trade association in Washington, DC, just three blocks from the White House. If I could magically remove the commute from my daily equation, it would be perfect. On the other hand, without a daily trip on the subway, where would half of my characters come from?
Oh, and as for the writing . . . I am at least as productive, if not more so, as a part-time writer as I was when I was full-time.









