Future Aspirations in Writing: A Creative Journey

Let’s speak this one into being.

I’ll be 79 years old.

I expect to be at a computer writing my twentieth novel.

Stephen Spielberg will be clamoring for the script of it and be wanting to turn it into a block buster hit.

On my shelf is a line of awards. to include an couple of Edgar Allan Poe’s, two Hugo’s, and an academy award for best screen play. The walls of my office is lined with pictures of book covers, posters from movies and TV shows, and cast pictures of the actors and actresses I’ve written for.

And oh, I’ll be doing this up in a mountains where we have our summer home. Outside, not far away, a creek is running and it’s teeming with trout just waiting to be caught and fried up for supper.

I look up from my writing and out the window. Two deer have come out of the edge of the forest and are working down towards a creek to get a drink.

I lean back in my chair, and Julie comes is with my coffee.

“How’s it going?” she asks.

“Stephen will get the script on time,” I say, and then nod towards the deer. “They’re back.”

She joins me with he her cup of coffee and we watch the deer.

Stephen isn’t going anywhere.

The deer on the other hand? In a few minutes, they’ll disappear back into the forest and I’ll go back to writing.