A few years ago, at the height of a writing frenzy, I set a goal for myself: to get published by age thirty. I didn't specify what I would publish but I thought of writing a short story or two until I got the - endless - novels finished.
Last month, I turned twenty-nine. Looking ahead to the next year, there's very little writing time that can be squeezed in between the holidays, a move, a wedding, a honeymoon and all the planning those things require.
I'm not sad about these obstacles; I'm overjoyed to have them! But I get a lot of satisfaction from writing. Work doesn't exactly make me feel fulfilled so my crafts and writing have to fill that void. Perhaps I should re-do my goal. I will be published by the time I'm thirty-five. Sounds good, eh?
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