As mentioned in the previous post, the die is cast: I am writing a novel. The Muse visited with a fine idea, and I have started working on it. I have already written a couple of chapters (OK, not really.) I have written, though, the opening scene and it sounds good even the 100th time I read it. So far, so good.
The other day, I got another nod from the cosmos on the writing issue. On 10/10/10, a date with a significance lost on me apart from its cool binary appearance, I went out to lunch to a Chinese restaurant. The most exciting part about eating Chinese food at that particular restaurant that shall remain unnamed, was the fortune cookie moment. The fortune cookie messages I usually get are irrelevant to my life, BUT on 10/10/10 this was what the cookie gods of fortune-telling told me:
I am writing a book, or am I writing a book?