I'm reading a book by Katie Fford called Second Thyme Around. It's about a not-quite-thirty something woman who has put her life back together after a devastating divorce from her wretched, two-timing husband.
Then he shows up in her tiny town as a chef of a restaurant to which she supplies "veg". (It's an English story and thus has fantastic vernacular.) Of course, sparks of all sorts fly.
The two of them have crazy, intense, passionate arguments and become unwittingly and most unwantedly combined in each other's lives.
The story is pretty good. I think I've read it before, but I can't remember fully. That says something about my thoughts on the book, doesn't it?
So as I'm blow drying my hair this morning and simultaneously reading, my mind wanders off the page and onto thoughts of my own NIP (Novel In Progress). And as I thought about it, I literally felt myself relaxing. I felt comfort and contentment. I felt "home".
Now if that delicious feeling of coming home doesn't tell you exactly what you should be doing with your life, I don't know what could. My characters, my plot, my setting... it's all ideal to me. It's what I want to read. It's what I want to feel. It's what I want to be doing.
Four days. Four days and that's exactly what I will be doing.
Writing. Full. Time.