And so my last (for the moment) historical fiction novel is now doing its satellite thing across the reading universe and another novel is in construction phase.
Or should that be the ‘imaginating’ phase or the ‘jotting and plotting’ phase?
I wonder, does life become less of an adventure or more as one ages?
Let’s face it, when we’re young, we’re strong, fearless and the world’s our oyster. As we age and our bodies require more protection than they’ve ever had, perhaps we lose that sense of adventure. Or maybe, just maybe, because we are on the downward slope (let’s be honest here), we lose our inhibitions and look for more adventure, maybe even more danger to fire up the sense of achievement and adrenalin levels.
April’s coming? The last month of the first quarter of the year?
I have to look back and ask: is there accomplishment in the last almost four months?
Well, yes. I’ve almost finished Michael, despite the hurdles that are being thrown my way.
Fifteen blog posts…
… countless hours of time, a few thousands of words, days spent in tactical talks with the powerhouse of the anti-fish farm movement, weeks spent on the phone raising a fighting fund in the early days, hours spent doing leaflet drops. Even sitting with politicians, talking, talking, talking…
And for what?