The magic of modern medicine has touched all of our lives in many ways, but can you imagine where you’d be, or not be, if you’d been born during the last pandemic? I would’ve survived the pandemic, I’m sure. My immune system has resisted COVID several times so I’m one of the lucky ones with good genes. But, at 39, I would’ve probably died from a heart attack, if not, been severely disabled. Then, at 49, I would’ve died from cancer.
All this makes me pause and reflect. There would be no writing career, no music career, no watching my triplet daughters grow up into beautiful women. Then I think about all the people back then who died before their time and weren’t able to contribute that life changing achievement to the rest of the world because of some illness. It’s humbling.
And to all the people 100 years from now who read this message and are living way beyond their naturally selected time here on earth because of modern medicine, just realize how blessed you are to have been born after 2021, but most of all, please make me proud.
I’ve been missing in action this past month but there is a good reason for it. First, I spent two weeks hiking in the Andes Mountains in Peru, visiting ancient sites and swatting bugs in the Amazon Rainforest…with very little Internet access.
Then I had to bury one of my best friends the next week. Yes, he was the inspiration for one of the characters in my latest novel.
Needless to say, I haven’t felt like writing for a few weeks. That will change soon. On a good note, I just received a wonderful review of “The Art of Raising Hell” from Readers’ Favorites. If you’re not familiar with them, please check it out.
You’ll find plenty of idioms and catch phrases like this one in my new novel, “The Art of Raising Hell.” I wanted the narrator to be known for his one-liners and favorite sayings. After all, when you spice up the conversation, it gives it more flavor, right? Sorry, I just had to throw that one in there too.
But it is the moment of truth for me. It’s that short span of time in between finishing my novel and having it unleashed into the world for reviewers and critics to analyze, dissect and regurgitate. That calm before the storm, that deep breath before the plunge… Alright, enough is enough. I’ll stop.
I see why many writers consider each novel their own children. You do bring them into the world, watch them grow from simple ideas into elaborate stories and then release them into the wild for others to enjoy. It’s scary and exuberant at the same time.
This weekend, I estimate that I sent out around 100 requests for book reviews to bloggers. Mind you, that is no easy task. First, you have to find them. They’re kind of like dandelions that pop up in the yard. One day they’re there and available, the next day they’re gone. Most book bloggers are bombarded with thousands of requests so it’s understandable that they want to raise the drawbridge and close the shutters every once in a while. I can’t blame them.
Anyway, I’m going to sit back now with a glass of wine, or a beer, or maybe both, and enjoy my moment of truth as long as I can before it becomes either my Woodstock or my Waterloo.