There’s a profound difference between the stories we write and the stories we live. As a writer, I’ve shelved countless manuscripts—unfinished works waiting for my return, my revisions, my second chances. The pages sit patiently, knowing I might someday breathe new life into their dormant potential.

Life offers no such luxury. We write our story in permanent ink, each moment committed irrevocably to the record. There are no drafts to revisit and no passages to rewrite. The narrative unfolds in real time, with no chance to polish our regrets into something more beautiful in retrospect.

Eleven years ago, my dear friend Ken reviewed my book “Cydonia: Rise of the Fallen.” I read through his review just a few minutes ago and felt that familiar writer’s urge to revise and improve. How fortunate that my written work allows for second editions! Yet this moment illuminated a stark contrast—while my book may see multiple iterations, my life will see just one.

Why, then, do we waste our precious days scrolling aimlessly, ensnared in digital echoes that contribute nothing to the significance of our story? Why spend hours on transient distractions when we could be creating memorable experiences?

For those who believe, as I do, in life after death, there comes a reckoning—not an editing session. Our completed manuscript will be read, not revised. This is not meant to inspire fear but urgency—an invitation to live deliberately, to make each word and day count.

Let us write lives worth reading—stories of impact, kindness, and purpose. Let us make our corners of the world better places, knowing we won’t get the chance to rewrite what we’ve lived, only to live what we’ll be proud to have written.

As always, I’m inundated with work, but I will endeavour to update my website as much as I can. Thank you for reading, my friends, wherever you are.

Much love, always. 🙂