The Wise Novelist

Saturdays Are Busy.

I am so jealous of my buddies in the OFC and a number of my other contemporaries.

Most are retired.

They keep busy.

They travel. Visit family. Friends.

They hit that bucket list.

Some hit golf balls.

They perform the maintenance work around their homes.

They have their DIY projects.

Most seem very happy. I am happy for them. I mean that.

Love them all.

They have each earned their time.

They were smart. They were ants. They planned, worked and saved.

I’m a grasshopper.

Never thought I would last this long.

Lived accordingly.

So I continue to work as a lawyer.

I also work as a one man farm hand.

And Claire & Honey’s Valet.

Then there’s my p/t gig as PR support for Tom The Writer.

Lots of social media work. Build the brand. Read books, write reviews.


And sometimes I find the time to actually write novels.

I’m not complaining, these are all self-inflicted wounds.

I actually enjoy all of it when I stay in the moment.

And my kids are all well-educated, happy and successful.

And they are giving me wonderful grandkids.

I have a wonderful home.

My wife still puts up with me.

And my life gave me lots to write about. It’s been fun.

Four out of four books are Amazon Bestsellers.

So much to be grateful for.

But as I sit here in front of my computer this morning, realizing how much I have to get done today, it does make me catch my breath. I ain’t getting any younger. . . .

There, . . . the moment has passed. I’m good.

I just heard Spaghetti tell me to “stop whinging, ya idjit.”

Onward and upwards.

You fine, five readers get out there and take care of those errands.

Then do something fun. It’s the weekend.

I need to see a kitty about a cuddle, visit with my animal friends in the neighborhood and then torture myself on the dreadmill so I can remain healthy enough to keep living.

Then the weekly prep, and some outside chores.

There are more stories to tell.

I intend to tell them.

And when I land that movie deal, and I will, I’m going to start delegating some of these other jobs.

I’m imagining Yellowstone cowgirls and French maids.

Sorry Spaghetti. I could never match your work ethic.

But no matter what any of us plan on doing today. . . .

Let’s make today a great one.

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