In 20 Years

Earlier today I was looking in the mirror doing the hair fixing thing and the make-up applying thing, and I thought, I probably have a good 20 years left in me.

In 20 years I would not yet be 70. With luck (and a good diet) my health could be satisfactory. Hopefully, I would still have all of my marbles. Of course, one never knows about these things - I could go in the next five minutes. But barring that, 20 years seems reasonable.

And then I thought, what do I want to have accomplished in that time? Do I want to climb a mountain? Run a foot race? Be an astronaut?

Well, no, nothing so dramatic as that. I don't believe I have ever wanted to seek out new life and new civilizations and boldly go where no one has ever gone before.

Except in books.

Ah, yes, books.

In 20 years I could, conceivably, write 20 books. That's one a year. However, in the last 47 years, I have only written a single book, and it was never published. It has turned to dust in a drawer.

I have written parts of books in that time. And I have written (and published) about 2,000 articles. It's not a bad body of work, but it's not bound up nice and neatly.

It is not a book.

Heck, even my blog, which now has over 1,400 entries, counts as a somewhat significant body of work, wouldn't you say? I mean, that is a lot of words. As you know, I do not write short. That's probably something like two or three books. Maybe more.

In the next 20 years, I want to write books. Not just one book. A lot of books.

There. I said it.

Finally.

Now to overcome my fears, and make it happen. Time to kick my butt in gear.

Procrastination out the door.