The Big 4 - 0... 40... XL... Forty... No matter how you say it--you still end up with the same amount.
And in six short months, I'll be there. Is that so bad? There are a lot more numbers after forty than before it, right?
The problem is, unlike my two amigos, I have yet to produce a tome. A chunk-o-pages. A pile-0-leaves.
Short stories I have aplenty--and some of them published, even. But nary a novel.
Ink has three or four sitting in drawers. I'm sure he'd loan me one but it wouldn't be the same. And there it is...40...staring me down.
You read about how (insert famous author's name) wrote five novels by the age of (insert insanely low number) and it's easy to get discouraged. But they didn't have daughters eleven and nine years old, and a rabid Jack Russell terrier gnawing on their toes whilst they wrote... Or did they?
Oh well. Forget about losing a few pounds. Forget about volunteering at the local food bank. Forget about helping a few more ole ladies cross the street this upcoming year. You know what my resolution is. June 30 is highlighted on my calendar and I sit poised amongst a pile of index cards, notepads and sundry other instruments of fiction creation.
I wonder though... Am I the only one who feels the press of TIME and AGE in my writing? Or am I just being a little neurotic?