I turned 29 yesterday. Like, for real 29, not 29 for the third time, not 29 with five years experience, but actually one score and a decade minus one years old. Established: 1987. High school graduating class 2005. All that. It doesn’t really mean much to me except that I think it should mean something, and since it doesn’t, that kind of freaks me out. (Well, I guess I am becoming acutely aware that my prime baby-making years are behind me, but my gyno assured me that anything before 35 is not medically considered risky for a first-time pregnancy, so I’m technically fine there too.) But my lack of urgency still somewhat alarms me.
So I need some goals. Or at least A Goal. I recently established a sorta-career in fringe* IT without ever taking a computer science class because who needs those when you grew up accidentally catfishing creeps in AT&T chatrooms and teaching yourself HTML so your Neopets’ would have bangin’ webpages, right? Check on the job front. I have legally bound a man to my person and, as established, babies may and can still be in the future and we’ve already got two children in the form of furry felines, so check on the family front. After being super frugal for most of our lives, we’ve secured a very comfy home and some savings, so I feel pretty in control of my material needs as well. So what’s that leave?
*fringe = I don’t code, I don’t fix shit, and I especially don’t know what’s wrong with your hardware, but I’m technically in the IT department and everyone thinks I know what I’m doing so hell yeah.
Ah, yes, that leaves passion. Fire. Creativity. I’ve been writing my whole life (sans those first few years where I wasn’t doing much more than eating, shitting, and crying, though 2008 was eerily similar to that). My ability and productivity have ebbed and flowed, but my fervor has never been snuffed out completely. I’m currently working on a fantasy trilogy (so creative, right? Like no one’s ever thought to write a set of three books set in a faux-medieval magical world before!) and I know I just gotta get it done. I’d like to finish, and yes my version of finish is probably different from yours, before I’m 30. Book one is largely complete, as in the words have been vomited on the page and some preliminary editing has happened, and book two is in its very early stages. Can I do it? Well, I started planning this story way back in 2011, so the math says no, but fuck numbers: I’ve always been more partial to words anyway.
And what better way to get myself writing more than by literally writing more? And how about writing ABOUT writing? O geez, it’s writing-ception. Of course, this is me, a non-published, BA-only-having, motivation-less weirdo who uses the word “non-published” instead of “unpublished” like she’s some kind of pseudo-creative but really she just forgot there was a real word for that state of being, sitting on her couch giving out what’s going to look like advice and tips on writing. And that’s the kind of thing I should hate, but I’m going to indulge myself because, like, I’m a grown-ass woman, and I can do whatever the hell I want.
So on this blog you’re going to find me ranting about stuff that annoys me, telling stories about my cats, maybe a couple terribly sketched cartoons, and, like, a writing prompt or two. Oh, and I might try publishing a serial or something here. You know, both for masochism’s sake and for funsies! So please join me. Think of it like a birthday present for a stranger that costs you nothing but your time (which is probably the most precious thing you have, but you’re already wasting it here, so just stay awhile, okay?) It can really only get better after this super awkward ending to the most awkward of all blog posts: introductions. Bleck.