I have decided to write a book.
I know what you’re thinking and I’ve thought it too. Gazillions of people think they are talented writers. The truth is that only a tiny fraction of them find any kind of success. I get it but I’m arrogant enough to think that I can be one of the few that end up on the couch with Hoda and Jenna talking about my hot new best seller. I see them marveling on how I managed to do this in my 40’s and then it would turn into the “it’s never too late” story which will then make me feel old and bad. Okay, I’m getting ahead of myself.
For the past three years I have been consumed with writing. I’ve taken courses in writing, I dream about writing, I journal, I started this blog. I even have a twitter account and I thought twitter was only for politicians.
I always said that I wasn’t creative enough to write fiction so instead I thought I would write a memoir or do freelance editing but the idea of writing a book has been nibbling at me for a while. So, two days ago I started writing and I only have 1300 words but I’m obsessed. I can’t stop thinking about this story and where it could go. However, if I think too hard, I get heart palpitations so I’m just going to take it one day at a time.
There’s no deadline. I’ve got nothing but time.
Me and my laptop.
And the sound of the drywall guy in my kitchen—singing.
I may be 60 before it’s finished but hey, Hoda and Jenna are right— It’s never too late.