A matter of life and death

I had lunch with a friend yesterday who suggested that if I have an hour to write now, and three hours to write later, I should choose the now and write as though it's the only time I have - as though in 61 minutes, I will die.

This advice is sticking with me because throughout my knitting adventures I've been missing my novel, and because yesterday the news was all about a 45-year-old woman who died after falling down at the bottom of a ski hill. I'm always stopped in my tracks by stories like this--death, like a practical joker, seems to thrive on surprises.

You can't really choose how you're going to go but you can avoid some possibilities, like falling from a great height encased in a metal tube. Somebody whose hand I crushed during takeoff before I gave up on planes told me, while trying to get his circulation going again, that I shouldn't fear death because I've had a great life. And this is true. But more than death, I fear losing my chance to tell my stories. So I'm going to take my friend's advice and get back to the book again, 60 minutes at a time.