The Choice

I met a young writer yesterday who proclaimed boldly the desire to make a living from her work.  Already four unpublished novels she aims to tailor her writing to what she perceives to be the market.  I don't know how any of this works, it is clear.  But I suspect strongly that the motivation for money, even just a little enough to get by, misdirects the effort.  

The Choice

The intellect of man is forced to choose
perfection of the life, or of the work,
And if it take the second must refuse
A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.
When all that story's finished, what's the news?
In luck or out the toil has left its mark:
That old perplexity an empty purse,
Or the day's vanity, the night's remorse. 

William Butler Yeats