Happy tax renewal day to my British readers. Thank you for checking in on this impromptu post insofar as it coming on an unscheduled day. There is a good reason for that.
The reason is that today is my thirty-third birthday and I thought I’d type up a short birthday blog post for myself. I actually don’t hold any significance in the day of my birth. It has become gradually less important as the years have gone by.
As a child I thought my birthday to be the most important day of the year after Christmas. It was my day. It centred on me. I was the main attraction and everything that took place that day was for me or because of me. The bombload of presents always helped too.
The day became somewhat less special when I got into my teens. Clothes became a more usual present as opposed to toys while extended family slowly stopped buying me presents altogether. That said, my parents bought me turntables and a mixer for my sixteenth. To the day that is the best present I ever received. I’d coveted decks for about three years up to that point.
The teens gave way to young adulthood and suddenly birthdays became significant again. Me and my friends would always make a big deal of them. At the bare minimum there would be a night out in honour of the person whose birthday it was. At the grandest scale we’d go somewhere far afield to celebrate it. There was always beer involved regardless.
Then those halcyon days came to an end and birthdays slowly slipped into what they are now; just another day. I don’t do the typical adult thing of bemoaning the fact I’m getting older (at least not outwardly). I don’t insist on saying I’m twenty-one in some vain attempt to fool myself I’m still a spring chicken. My age doesn’t concern me.
What does concern me is how little I’ve achieved in thirty-three years as regards my goals. I’m neither a DJ nor am I a published author.
As far as the former goes — well, I gave up on that dream a couple of years ago when I realised how cutthroat the business is. There’s a lot of bootlicking required in order to get your name noticed in the right places and that has never sat well with me. I don’t do kissing arse to get ahead in life.
I’m at least making inroads regarding the latter. My work in progress (WIP) is undergoing a third edit to sort out grammatical errors and reduce the word count. I’m also brushing up on my grammar using a reference book I got from the library; taking notes and testing myself along the way. Then there’s the blog of course. It’s all geared towards me achieving my ultimate and now only goal.
Will I be published by the time I’m thirty-four? I doubt it. I might well have made my submissions to publishers, though I can’t imagine my WIP will be published by then. That could take years and I need to steel myself for what is going to be a long game; a stressful long game at that. Occupational hazards are unavoidable.
What I would like by my thirty-fourth birthday is to have at least submitted Revenge on the Spanish Main to some publishers and perhaps acquired an agent if necessary. I also plan on self-publishing a few short stories and novelettes as eBooks as well. Naturally some will be stories that featured on my blog while others will be originals. I hope I can count on you to leave reviews and five star ratings when I do.
Thirty-three years has flown by and I’m disappointed with how little I’ve accomplished to date where personal achievements are concerned. I hope the next five years see me rectify that issue.
Time is short, guys. Don’t waste it by doing little and inconsequential things or placing importance in stuff that you know isn’t really that imperative. I’m a classic case of both things. I just hope I’ve realised soon enough that I can achieve my dreams…