On a whim…

It’s been a year.

Both of us were treated for cancer.
She also underwent a heart procedure.

And still—
we made it to the Azores.
We found rest for a while in Boothbay Harbor.

I began my first novel and am close to finishing it: 37 chapters, 147,500 words.
I started drafting two more.
The second is emerging quickly, with its hinge chapters complete.
The third is conceptually structured, waiting its turn.

I’m wrapping up a devotional guide for Lent.
I’ve been publishing small pieces—one or two most weeks.

My writing coach keeps urging me to slow down, reminding me that as cancer treatment continues, the emotional cost of writing increases.

She said:
Protecting your pace right now is the same as
resting between surgical cuts,
letting a bruise declare itself before touching it again.

Ignore this and you’ll still be productive—
but the book would begin extracting something from you it has no right to take.

So I’m learning to tell the truth about limits.
Not to stop.
Not to hurry.
But to refuse any work that asks for more than it is given.

Still here.
Still listening.
Still writing.