IT’S NEVER TOO LATE
For years I have been plagued by a sense of nervousness; a feeling there was something I should be doing. Only when I sat down to write was it appeased. Why then did I continue to procrastinate? Was it the fear of being no good or a sixty-year, unconscious rebellion against my mother’s mantra of ‘Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today?’ Stories went untweaked and unsubmitted. The draft of two novels gathered dust in a drawer. Then everything changed. Eighteen months ago I was diagnosed with brain cancer. Only palliative care was offered. One of my biggest regrets was that I would not have the ten years I had hoped for to work on improving my
