About a year ago I went to an event at the Alex and Ani jewelry showroom-studio and a psychic there told me that the second book I'm meant to write will be about love. It doesn't have to be about romantic love, she said. Just love. And it won't be a prescriptive book, she said. Good, I thought, because lord knows I don't know where to find love, I have no business telling anyone else where to look.
Ever since then I've been trying to write a book about love, a subject that, for the life of me, I cannot wrap my head around. These days I worry more and more that the real problem of me not writing a second book is that I just don't have an imagination. And if the book's meant to be non-fiction, that must mean that something poignant and/or tragic has to happen in the meantime, which scares me silly.
I'm overthinking this. Time for bed.