How many more novels do you think I can write in just under fifty-one years?
You know what's kind of (additionally) creepy about this? One summer in high school my mom took Kate, me, and a few of our friends to New Hope, where we had our fortunes read. The palm reader asked me if I wanted to know how old I'd be when I died, and naturally I said yes, and guess what number she gave me?
Guess how old I'll be in 2060.