It has been a long 5 months since signing on and adding to the Life of a Writer series, thus I continue. I have worked relentlessly on The Penny, including an October writing trip to Andersonville Prison in Georgia where my great-great grandfather was interred during the Civil War, and a November touch-up trip to the Library of Congress in D.C. I FINALLY finished yet another draft of the novel at the end of November and sent it to pre-readers yet again. So far the results have been better than the first round. But in this long process of research and re-writing, I have found  my patience creating a new form of identity in me. One that is okay with where I am and what I’ve become. Perhaps turning 58 years old in September helped spur the change, and perhaps retiring from health care after 42 years assisted as well. In any case, I have become the simple life-leading person I’ve dreamed about for decades (maybe earlier than most), but moreover, I’m learning to be comfortable with it. In July, the depression I sank into had other circumstances surrounding its causation, but the emotions brought on a very deep searching of life as it was – and now is. Much of my emotional roller coaster now absolutely resonates around my artistic life. My writing, my art work, and my compassion for a right-brain lifestyle has emerged as the winner. I’ve always believed I had a very thick corpus callosum. Now I understand what that reality is. Between the analytical and Type A person I once was, wrestling with the divergent artist, ambidextrous, emotion laden being I was becoming, the warfare seems to be slowing down; however, getting used to that in today’s ever-pressing consumerism and populism finds me in no man’s land. And you know what? That’s okay. I’d rather be here looking out than those looking to get in. Now, back to writing everyday.