Arthur Conan Doyle didn’t figure on being a writer from the start. He studied to be a doctor. It was a different system in England in the 1870s and 1880s than it is in present day America. A doctor studied, a combination of class work and internship with a doctor in private practice. Eventually the young doc had to strike out on his own. Finding employment was not all that easy, not like it is today.

Doyle graduated his studies and had trouble finding work. He was writing stories for a couple of magazines, getting fairly good money for them, and sending most of it home to his mother. To try to make a little extra, he left a temporary job and took another—on a ship bound for Africa. Apparently ships at that time took a doctor along, to treat the passengers, and perhaps to treat those in African ports-of-call. He had been on a ship previously, and he would again.

However, this time the journey didn’t turn out as planned. He didn’t like Africa. He didn’t make the money he’d hoped for. A fire broke out on the return voyage and they almost had to abandon ship. He arrived in Liverpool in January 1882, and wrote this to his mother.

I don’t intend to go to africa again. The pay is less than I could make by my pen in the same time, and the climate is attrocious. The only inducement to go to sea is that you may make some fees out of passengers, but these boats have hardly any passengers—we had only one coming back. You can’t write at sea, either, and particularly you can’t write in the topics. If I can’t get a S. American boat, I will apply for a house surgeoncy I think. I want to improve myself in my profession and get more practical experience before I launch out for myself. I have written a couple of articles which will do, I think, and I have the germs of several in my head, which only need a literary atmosphere to make them hatch. [Arthur Conan Doyle: A Life In Letters, p. 147]

I see here a man who is torn between two worlds, two careers: medicine and writing. It turns out they are somewhat incompatible in that time and place. He has ideas for writing, and is producing some works, but can’t seem to make his money as a doctor and at the same time pursue writing as a sideline.

That seems to be the situation with many writers. A career in something else puts bread on the table, and writing happens in odd hours, stealing time away from something else that needs to be done. At some point we find a little success in writing, and the career seems old hat. Yet, the writing doesn’t support us, while the whatever career does.

So in A.C. Doyle’s circumstances at this point in his career, I find some inspiration and encouragement. Sure, he was a young man whereas I’m on the old side of middle age now. He had a long time ahead of him to write; I’ve got much less. But if I have to keep on doing civil engineering and corporate training therein for the next 5 years, 9 months, and 6 days, all the while carving out time to write, I guess that won’t be so bad.