I'm staring down the gaping throat of 40 and asking myself the age-old question, "If not now, when?"
I write. People pay me for my words. They order the words, and I write them. "I need a 300 word article on pole dancing," my clients say. "Coming right up!" I answer.
But, when I can find the energy and the time and the fearlessness, I write. Stories about statues and spam filters, virgins and vegetables (sometimes in the same plotline), manly men and manic meanies. I write them down, and I revise, revise, revise them until they are words you might want to read.
Spicy. Contemporary. Paranormal. And above all, romantic. That's what I read. That's what I write.
What about you? Do you read? Do you write? Do you read and dream of writing? Do you write, and dream of being read?