Lately, I have been disappointed in myself for not using my time well. To be specific, my writing time. I started thinking about this one night as it took me a while to get to sleep. As happens in nights like these, several thoughts poured through my mind. One thought was centered on my grandson’s 13th birthday. Where had the time gone? Looking back, I thought about how busy I was at that time. Two years back, 15 years ago, my husband and I had moved from Idaho to Oregon. I found a full-time job and decided to further my education at the same time. I also received “the call” from a publisher requesting the fiction novel I had written after I’d written three published magazine articles. More time had gone by and I did a practicum, finished college, and got the job I really wanted.
I now have twelve published works, in fiction and children’s books. I began helping new writers, started my own publishing company and became part of the Windtree Publishing group of writers. I have been trying to get two books out a year.
Just summing up the last fifteen years made me tired. Before I nodded off, I decided to not worry about getting two books out this year, maybe not even one. After all, I have worked very hard for a year off. I may see more of my grandson, I may write something entirely different. Que sera sera, what will be will be in 2021.
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