On that day, I wrote out a list of fifty-things-I-must-do-before-50. (At the time, I was just being fanciful. Being a "list-person," I've been always drawing out plans of things to do). One ambitious line sticks out like a teasing tongue, "Publish a book."
Well, must I say more, that's what a list does to one's head. It constantly questions one's sincerity and commitment concerning what one sets out to conquer. It mocks one's procrastination to the point that, to have inner peace, one must set out to attack that itemized line.
First, an arrow would be drawn out, as to assure the "list monster" that, "Allright O, I'm working on it." Only then, it would relent, backing off for some times. But it would not forget. It would rake in infrequently, give one a "Giddyup," once in a while, to rest only when one deliver to it that wonderful check mark, like an exquisite bird taking flight.
My arrow was released more than a year now. It's flying far, still shooting towards the intended target, not losing its momentum.
On the way, the "list monster" does funny things to it.
It attaches bells and feathers to its plain tail, making it looking more like an Indian warhead.
From the one-book target, the embolden, richly-decorated arrow now aims for two additional side deals:
- A second memoir/fiction. I have the basic structure of this second book but no title. It will be about the beginning of our new life abroad, from 1982-1989. Maybe I can call it, "The Wonderful Seven," referring to the next seven years after "Behind the Red Curtain." I had one chapter down.
- A third memoir/fiction. All I have is the title, "Give me a year and I'll come back to be a housewife again." I plan to write about my writing years and how I become an author. Not yet know how I would approach this.
I just hope that by the time my arrow hits its target, it would not kill too many birds with one quill.