My Mother Gave Birth to me and All I Got Was This Lousy Holiday

I’ve taken a number of breaks from blogging over the years but in the four or so years I’ve been on social media I’ve not taken the same kind of break until last week. The mix of politics and sock puppet discussions just became to noisy so I stepped back, deleting a bunch of accounts I was following and took a few deep breaths. I also stayed away from here as well.

But today is my 36th birthday and that seems like as good a day as any to come back and talk about myself. I’m a reflective person by nature, but I’m at a point in my life now where I’m less inclined to reflect on what’s happened and more interested in figuring out how to  approach future dreams and challenges. I’ve been very blesses with a good family, a good job, and good friends. I’ve also experienced a healthy amount of good luck to get where I am in my life. I have some family goals and dreams, and a few minor day job goals, but my overarching, still burning goal is to have a successful writing career.

What’s changed as I’ve gotten older though is my idea of what constitutes a successful writing career. I no longer grasp to the notion of a writing career as my ticket to fame and riches. I am more interested now in writing a great book that reflects my voice and my passion and having that book read by people who appreciate it. I want to be successful enough that a publisher wants to publish more books from me, but I’m less inclined to alter my voice or my ideas to fit the moving target of “commercial.” The book I’ve almost finished is one I’ve been dying to write and does everything I hope to do with a novel and it’s probably the least commercial thing I’ve ever written. And I don’t care. There are more avenues available to find my desired audience now than there have ever been and that gives me hope.

So thanks to everyone reading this who has helped get me to where I am, and for those out there who will play a role in getting me to where I want to be, well…get to it.