Nearly two and a half years ago, I decided to step off the hamster wheel.

Write a book.

Reasonable, if risky, proposition, I thought.

That is, if I had built up some momentum.

I had, but didn’t sustain it.

Wrote a few things that got published in places.

But I liked it. And I’m good at it.

Wasn’t like I had another job I’d turned down.

The project I was working on came to an end.

I went home.

And stared at a screen for a few months.

Typed some words into a novel I’ve been scribbling for over 10 years.

It’s not that complex, I just get in my own way.

A lot.

Start to think about whether this too shall fail.

Because most things I’ve done have failed.

More accurately, never went anywhere.

Self-sabotage is the best sabotage.

What if I fail?

Easy.

Quit.

Or half ass it.

That way you’ll know why it didn’t work.

It’s about control.

Working through some of that.

Because in the dark, when I ask myself, what it is I like and I’m good at?

It comes down to writing.

Creation.

Bringing something into the light.

And it feels like it’s all I have left.

Since I haven’t been good at much else.

Call this a last stand.

Time to save myself.

Stop looking at the wall, and turn around.

Because there’s a better question.

What if it works?

Might be fun to find out.