So I've decided to write a book

I got to talking to Heather about a month ago, back when NaNo was kicking off. She is very encouraging and told me that I should go ahead and write my book.
Oh yes, that book. The book that shows up in my dreams and eventualities. The ever elusive book that I have always been going to write whenever I finally get struck by the muse and have all the free time in the world. When the kids are grown and the wife is off on world tour. The book I want to write when I finally conquer the English language to a degree that the words come flying off of my fingertips as fast as I can type. When the entire outline of the book suddenly appears in its completed form in my newly photographic memory. When a world famous publisher comes knocking on my door saying that they have heard of my amazing writing ability and sought me out to beg me to please write for them.
Yes. That book.
And I considered it. I thought about it for days. Temptation works that way. Jag, you know you want to write it. You've always wanted to. Now is the time.
But then I declined. The kids are NOT grown. The wife is NOT on world tour. I have a life. I have responibilities. I still have my sanity. I cannot commit to a book right now. I just don't have time.
And that was it. Right?
Well, the short answer is, no.
That would have been it if my answer was "No, and I'll never think about it again." but alas (I've always wanted to use the word alas in context.)
It has been haunting me. It creeps in from the sides when I am not expecting it. It is a dream. A wish. A hope.
And then I realized something. NaNoWriMo asks you to write fifty thousand words in a month. That's intense. But I don't have to do it for NaNo. Why a month? Why not a year? Why not two years? What if I were to write fifty or a hundred words per day?
And that was the end of my resistance. It took a month, but I relented nonetheless.

So here I sit in front of the computer, looking at the blank page.
Yes, the dreaded blank page.
The night was hot...
I realized suddenly that my dream is not to write a book. My dream is to have written a book. Writing a book is hard work.
Writing a book that someone else would like to read is even harder.
And writing a book that somebody will pay money for is even harder than that, or so I am told.

Thank you, Heather. Thank you for giving me that extra little push. Thank you for saying, "Yes, you can." Thank you for all of the time you have given me so far explaining the difference between ideas and plots. Between a rough outline and a finished outline. Between telling and showing. Between writing and being a writer.
Thank you.