Since the middle of September, one end of the road I live on has been closed. Not only that, it’s the main path to where I work, a majority of the shopping areas, and the closest interstate. To get anywhere, I have to go backward first.
In many ways, it seems this is the way of life. Want to go forward? Too bad, you have to turn around.
It’s a disappointment, one that comes up more often than not. As a writer, years ago I suspected that I was getting close to a point where I would be traditionally published. I could feel it in my bones. I was wrong.
Last year, I set up at a convention, thinking it would be the start of me working solely as a writer, traveling and selling books. I didn’t make quite the sales over that convention that I thought I would.
Still, I write. Still, I pursue my goals.
Also, yesterday, the blocked end of my street opened up.