Before I started writing fiction, I had a checkered career: technical writer, computer geek, and interior designer. I’m good at two out of three of those. Fortunately, I had the sense to quit the one I sucked at (interior design).
When my mid-life crisis hit, I took up muay thai and started writing thrillers featuring a middle-aged female protagonist. (‘Walter Mitty’, you say? Nope, never heard of him.)
Writing and kicking the hell out of stuff seemed more productive than more typical mid-life-crisis activities like getting a divorce, buying a Harley Crossbones, and cruising across the country picking up men in sleazy bars; especially since it’s winter most months of the year here in Canada.
It’s much more comfortable to sit at my computer. And Harleys are expensive. Come to think of it, so are beer and gasoline.
Oh, and I still love my husband. There’s that. So I stuck with the writing.
(And, for the record, no, I’m not actually my protagonist, Aydan Kelly.)