What’s the biggest risk you’d like to take — but haven’t been able to?

The chair would be a cheery red with a chenille pillow placed just so. There would be a roaring fire and, other than that, silence. In one corner, a gleaming table would hold my lap top. Not a desk. The space isn’t that specific in its use. Other people rent it for a ski getaway or family Christmas. I, however, paid Daniel, the slightly too friendly proprietor, for two months up front. I cleared my schedule and said no to people I’ve never said that to before. I am here to finish my book. It’s happening. Me and my novel just moved to the top of the list. My list anyway. This is the risk I dream of taking as I write tiny snippets between appointments and buying lettuce and school plays. My grandchildren’s but still important. It’s all important. Can’t quite figure out how to pretend it’s not. So, until my cabin with crunchy snow and a red chair, I will revise chapter three early on a Sunday morning and fix that paragraph that is bugging me in the parking lot of the dentist and make all the opening nights of school plays and answer prompts like this.