There is a strange quality to time when you have to evacuate your home because of a natural disaster. You know there is so much to do, so you have the adrenaline rush you need to do things, but you can't do any of them until you can go home again.
For me, time moves slowly, and my mind runs at thousands of miles an hour. Sleep beckons, but hardly ever comes.
Last night, while I wasn't sleeping, I decided to think about my stories, and try to do some plot planning and story development in my head. I thought that would be more productive than thinking about what I have to do at home, and what kind of timetable might be available to do that work.
I started thinking about characters, and story arc, and connections, and then I just started thinking about writing.
I planned to write books when I retired and I am doing that. I have five books published. Five! And book six is complete and in the process of editing and refinement. Two of the books are novellas, at around 100 pages each, but the other four are all over 300 pages.
My books are self-published, and are more of a cost center than a profit center, but I am proud of them. I have periods where I feel embarrassed that I have chosen self-publishing. I criticize myself for the path I've chosen, calling myself a coward for not trying to get published by a recognized publishing house.
But then I remind myself that I never intended for my books to be a source of income, just a source of purpose and accomplishment. I don't sell many copies, but most of the people who read my books enjoy them.
I have dedicated time to my stories, and I have captured them for eternity. My stories may never change the world. But if they bring one person escape, or pleasure, or comfort; I've achieved something wonderful.
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