Dear Reader,
If you’re anything like me, then you’ve been feeling it too, whether you’re as restless as a willow in a windstorm or not. Spring fever is a common complaint, and the sight of some beautiful flowers set me off this week. More than wishing for a change in the weather, though, I think I’m feeling wistful about the possibilities for creation and rebirth that come with spring. As I finish writing Volume II of the Love Trilogy—LOVE AND THE EPIDEMIC—I’ll be heading into Volume III soon. And that’s a lovely place to be.
I had brunch recently with an old friend I haven’t really talked with in decades. He’s a successful writer of biography—performers, principally. In the course of catching-up, our conversation naturally turned to the craft of writing. He asked me how I feel about it, and I said that I love it, and that I can’t wait to get to the computer each morning. He, on the other hand, confessed that he hates writing, that he finds it a chore, and that he is always looking for ways to avoid doing it.
I was mildly shocked, until I turned my gaze inward and realized that that’s about the way I always approached food writing. Maybe that’s why I only wrote two cookbooks in three decades! But once I tackled fiction, my tables turned. Despite internal messages like, “I’ve always been a writer,” I realize that I didn’t find my calling until about a year-and-a-half ago.
So, if you have that dream job that fills you with joy, then fabulous. It’s what we all deserve. But if you haven’t found it yet, then know that it can surface at any age; and I’m living proof. Yes, it’s a wonderful life, in every season, and I wish you a career that brings you as much joy as you can stand.
Bruce
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