Tomorrow never comes

It’s never too late. That’s what I told myself before my children were born, before they had limber arms and chubby legs with twinkly little toes to tickle at bath time. Now they stamp and moan, giants with children’s hearts, eating everything in sight. And those toes, oh those sweet smelling toes that deserved to be counted and bathed with care, are now tucked out of sight and out of mind. I waited for the perfect moment to be a writer; waited till the family grew and needs were fewer. Nothing seemed to change and my tomorrow never came.

Then something happened. It crept out of the folds of the autumn sunshine one day, washing my bedroom with its golden rays. It whispered of romance and heartache and wretched betrayal. It grew into an idea, into words, into sentences. That was the day Deception was born.  Nothing had changed in my life: the needs were the same, those loving footsteps filling my world with chaos. Yet, those whispers couldn’t be ignored. I had to capture those thoughts, those words, those sentences. I had to be a writer.

I wonder if any of my bloggers feel that way about the birth of their book babies that shaped their writing careers. I wonder if there are people out there waiting for their tomorrow, waiting for that right moment to capture their story and make that brave step towards sharing it with the world.

What if your tomorrow never comes?