It's weird to lead a housewifely existence, then leap into an activity like the triathlon. Weird, but in a good way. It's also weird to leap into creative writing after a long day of errands and domestic chores; but it's also deeply satisfying. I'm leading a marginal, uneventful existence but because of that, because I'm close to the margins, it's easy to leap into completely uncharted territory.
This might be the answer to the dilemma I'm facing in one of my stories. I'm once again stuck on one particular story, in which the central character completely up-ends his life for a seemingly trivial reason.
Maybe he's lived on the margins for so long, the only thing left for him is to take one step even further out.
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