I have always had this lackadaisical attitude towards life and death. It’s always been, meh. Whatever will be, will be. I saw and heard people around me, fearing death – not in the “Voldemort kills to split souls and gain immortality” sort of way but the “I still have so much to live for” sort of way. For the most part of my life, I have dreamt and aspired to do great things. But if I were to die before fulfilling them, I wasn’t going to fret over something I cannot control. They weren’t something I HAD to live for.
Then I left my career behind last year and took up writing full time. I haven’t earned anything from it yet. I’m still editing the novel I just finished writing and have been outlining the plots for the follow-up series. But now, I’m no longer ready to die. Not just yet. I have to finish these books and a few more. I have to get them published. At most, I desire to write and let loose in this world six epic novels like Jane Austen before I call it quits. In the least, about twenty very well-written witty romance novels like Jennifer Crusie to gain a small-but-chuckling fan club would do.
Oh, and a bit more time to finish my reading list 😉
That’s about it. I’m working on it.