This is me to the left. Answering the phone at my evil day job. I like that term, I stole it from the fabulous Pam Stack, but in all actuality, I don't feel that way about my "real" job at all. I kinda dig it most days. Plus it has this little thing called health insurance. Another thing being an author doesn't provide.
Now don't get me wrong, writing and getting published is pretty flipping fantastic. Signing books, getting emails from people and reading the good reviews cause this sense of rockstar-ness that is unexplainable. Unless of course you are a rockstar, then okay... so you get it.
As for the millions upon millions of dollars that you'd imagine a published author gets... do this. Go to Forbes.com. Look up say - oh, E.L. James. You know, the Fifty Shades lady. Figure out how many books she's sold and divide that by her net worth. You'll soon figure out a ten dollar bill doesn't fly into our wallets every time you buy our books. Granted, E.L. James isn't exactly broke, nor is J.K. Rowling, but those of us who don't have movie deals, action figures and all the such... we have real jobs.
I know, totally blows the whole image, huh?