I recently turned 42 and have been wondering if I should now have some better understanding of the meaning of life. When I turned 40 I was super pregnant (not exactly how I foresaw that milestone) and preoccupied with the alarming speed at which my belly was growing. That was, of course, second only to my growing excitement of having a son to join my delightful 3-year old daughter.
Two years later I’m hit with the notion of being well in to my forties and wondering if anyone else feels like the older we get the faster time goes? Is that an known expression or intuition that most people have already come to terms with? It wouldn’t be the first time I was a passenger on the slow boat.
OK… back to the writing. I am working on the second novel in my murder mystery series. It’s in the initial stages but I have a clear story in my head of at least the beginning and the end. I said initial, right? Yes, there is a lot in between that needs work. But my sassy characters seem to lead me to where they want to go after I first set the premise of the book.
So, there you have it. I’m excited, I’m focused and I can’t wait to continue the daring and daunting process of writing book two.