Starting work on a novel (or any large project) combines an act of creation with an act of destruction. With limited time, the pursuit of an idea goes hand in hand with all of the ideas that aren’t pursued. Every idea is brought to life on the battlefield of a thousand dead ones. Considering a novel tends to take someone not pursuing it full time at least a year to complete, the rest becomes simple math. Life expectancy – current age = the number of novels left. At best, one can throw away other pursuits in an attempt to increase the pace, but then one is left cut off from source of material: life and living. As the next novel writing period creeps up on me, I have to wonder: If this were the last year of my life, which one would I create (and which ones would I destroy)?