The self same voice spoke to me a while ago. I listened. My wife suffered.
I was to be a writer. My blog was my field of dreams. I could smell the grass. Hear the knock of leather on timber. Watch my success going sailing over the outfield and into the corn.
“Can’t you see those ghosts?”
“All I can see is a very muddy field and a man who will go broke before his game is done.”
I still did it.
I will always do it.
If I am born again a billion times, I will do it.
All work and no play….?