I've resumed writing a novel. I started it couple of years ago during a brief romantic debacle during which I figured I'd better find something else to do or I'd make us both permanently crazy. Somehow it involves mythological goddesses and 40'somthing women on motorcycles, although I haven't yet figured out how. It's a challenge 'cause I'm a terrible storyteller in that traditional fiction kinda way. Heck, I don't even read much fiction 'cause all that Plot kind of confuses me.
But I feel compelled to complete something I've always wanted to try. Interestingly, I'm increasingly surrounded by people with the same growing compulsion, to pick-up threads long-abandoned, circle back to an old desire but this time free from youth's doubt & fear & defiant ego. I have a newfound sense of "Why not? What the hell?" Perhaps it's sensing a dooming apocalypse; I prefer to hope it marks an awakening.