I think my kids are worried about me. One of them called the other day with an idea for a "significant" story into which, he promised, I could "sink my teeth."
"It might even turn into a book," he said enthusiastically.
"That," I countered a little too quickly, "is a four letter word that I don't want to discuss."
"Precisely my point," he continued. "This would be the perfect project to take your mind off of Barbaro."
Actually it is a good idea and I dutifully queried the editor of the publication for which it is a nice fit, only to receive an auto reply that he was out of the office until the end of the week.
Fair enough. It's a good enough idea that he should get back to me. If not, I know where to find him. And the point has been made that it's probably time for me to refocus. As much as my agent warns against taking on any new "big" projects, it is time, in more ways than not, to move on. One way to escape from this holding pattern is to change course.
What's that they say? "Out of the mouths of babes..."
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