15 Years
I'll never forget how excited I was to get that acceptance letter. Holy cow! I remember I was at work, on break checking my email, and I had to scramble to the restroom. Wasn't sure I'd be able to contain myself in public. Later that year, I'd sold enough short fiction to buy the Kindle I named Gizmo, still with me to this day. (Take that, planned obsolescence.)
If I've done the math correctly, I've spent only 1% of my royalties over the years, hoarding the other 99% into a high interest-yielding account. Every now and then, I'll spend the monthly interest on something fun like a new cover for Gizmo or a TV series from way back when. Things I can look at and go, "Hey. My wordsmithing paid for that."
Writing brings in only about 5% of my annual income, so not enough to live on. (Unless I move into a van down by the river. Mrs. Fowler might object.) Even so, that 5% is hard-fought, considering the millions of other authors out there vying for readers' attention. Every time someone buys one of my books, it takes me right back to that day I sold my first story. And that feeling is priceless.