So now I'm fifty-seven. Almost an old man. I'm lifting weights, rucking, karate training, so that I might age strong. You've got to keep going. Keep moving. Just keep on swimming, like a shark. Otherwise, you'll drown in inertia.
My wife and I have just returned from a fantastic week in Turkey, relaxing in the sunshine. In a week's time, I'll be hiking in Ullswater with my son. Later this year, I'll be vising Ghent and either Madeira or Albania. Longer-term, we're planning trips to Copenhagen and Japan. I'm still moving forward. My health is good, my mind is clear, my horizon is still broad. It's all in the reflexes.
Writing updates:
I have a few new stories waiting to be published, and have two stories that I'm currently writing (no specific markets in mind).
I'm still editing my bleak epistolary novelette The First Road to Hell. I have no idea where I'll send it when it's done, but hopefully a market might suggest itself.
Entropy Season still feels like it might be a goer. I'm still thinking, making notes, and allowing it to gestate. A novel is a tricky thing; it has its own heartbeat, and you can't interfere or you might kill it while it's still just a series of ideas waiting to gel.
Reading:
Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King
Eastmouth & Other Stories- Alison Moore
The Pandemonium Waltz - Jeffrey Ford
Listening:
90s playlists.
In Times of Dragons - Tori Amos
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