My novel is still growing. I found an angle that really makes it mine and more than a story everyone else tells. There are cycles in writing and now we are cycling through the apocalypse. My novel doesn’t quite go there, but I feel like there is space for what I am doing within that genre. At least I know the genre finally.
One revelation in a long line of necessary ones. Another would be a clear understanding of my role at work. I know what I am there for, at least for the next year. Afterwards someone will take the job and I will move on to another challenge. It isn’t what I want. I know that a year in the role is far too limited to make the best of it and truly establish a new position. On the other hand, I had a chance to make with a new position when I first joined the college and I didn’t execute the way I needed to. In fact I dropped the ball.
There are days when I want to wake up in 1991 and have a chance to do things with the effort and vigor I know I am capable of. You can’t go back. Perhaps the truth is that death is merely an cessation of new material and you live everything over and over again, but life is forward. It is the next moment and the moment after that. I didn’t feel that way earlier in my life, but as I age I recognize this fact and the fact that there isn’t really time to waste.