In the early summer of last year, my world became very small and quiet. A combination of illness and clients completing their work with me en masse left me feeling adrift at sea.

It’s happened again. I’m at yet another crossroads, uncertain which direction to go. The genesis of my most recent ambivalence was the kind suggestion from an editor that I “put aside” my memoir and try my hand at fiction. Reading her letter, I felt all the energy ooze out of my body and onto the floor. Surprisingly, I wasn’t upset, but I was disappointed. Deflated. Now what?