Another Year Older

Yes. Tomorrow is my 27th birthday. Tomorrow another year passes and (WARNING: the rest of this blog is probably going to be depressing) I still haven't much to show for my time on this earth. I must admit that I'm working--however slowly and not-so-surely--on a novel I truly believe in and hope will take me far. But as I tick off the years, it gets harder and harder to let them pass without feeling the clammy hand of failure resting on the back of my neck. I made a decision many years ago (I can say that now) that I wanted to be a writer, and that was the only thing I could do with my life, be damned the odds. I made a commitment, shucking off a chance at a college education (though I dabbled), taking on a string of shitty-ass jobs (that's the technical term), and squeezing in my writing, doing everything I could to learn the craft. I have to say, I've learned a lot. And not just about writing. But I also learned that my narrow-mindedness led me to make some needlessly reckless decisions. Ah, the brashness of youth (someone get me my damn cane). Now I'm trying to make up for lost time. But as Ben "Tenor" Wayland's mother told him in my novel, Crystal Past, "There is no making up for lost time." Lost time is the one thing no one can find. Once it's gone, it's gone. So I'm trying to pick up where I left off. Maybe that's a better way of putting it. I'm going back to school. I just applied to a pretty hip private arts college in Chicago. If I get in, I'm not sure I'll be able to afford it, but I'm done with the junior college scene as of this semester, so it's either upgrade to a real college, or quit all together.

I've got the writing though. And I'm getting closer. But I always imagined I'd make it long before 27. Now I'm just hoping to make it by the time I'm 30. An age I shudder to think about. In my mind I'm still 18, only I can buy liquor and rent cars. Ah. It's good to be 18.