Running Sands

Other than massive sharks and arachnids of frightening size or disposition, few things scare me as much as the nebulous fear that I won't do enough in my lifetime. As a writer, this translates to not completing enough stories, not saying everything I wanted to say.

Four novels in, I still have a long way to go. My inbox is something of a teetering tower--and I'm quite lucky to be in that position.

So I'm spurred at random moments, by song or position of the sun. My hourglass sands never stop running. A survey-type question recently went around social-media circles: Would I give up eight years of life in order to have $10 million in the bank? Sure, I'd be set. There's a lot of good you can do with that kind of money. But, on the flip-side, I'd miss out eight years of kids growing and family life and marriage--and would I skip right on to

Justin Edison's hairy arm and digital watch.

books number seven or eight being published? Could some sort of automation take each premise as-is and craft an engaging, colorful narrative with meaning? Without the mistakes I'd commit and learn from along the way? I don't think so.

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