Chaucer (c. 1343–1400) observed "The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne." I'll say. I've been wrestling with a story for more than a decade. One day I awoke with something braiding into my heart center; a genie had visited and dusted me with pixie droppings. Did I have the wazoo to bring it forth? So 15 years ago I began to follow it, to listen to it, to tame the story into submission. Abandoned it after seven years. It's still there, gnawing at me like a squirrel in heat. Maybe it will be like the miracle of bamboo growing underground all those years - sprouting forth with confident victory? Or not. Elizabeth Gilbert: surrendering to Big Magic.