Well, I hate to say it because it sounds so affected and unlikely, but it would be writing. My days of enthusiasm for other things have passed and what matters to me now is writing. Even if it's writing about writing, there's so much to be said. And written. Fired off into the great deafness that is the public, writing in the hubbub of every day concerns, writing about things that never happened and things that actually did, writing in the teeth of disappointment and the crest of success, writing... What, you're letting me go? That's okay, I'll write you a letter. Or an essay. Maybe a dissertation. A seven-novel set, a plan for the next kidnapping...
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