On Friday, March 8th, I celebrated my 31st birthday. Of course, it doesn’t feel much different than thirty in many ways, although being thirty-one makes me more anxious than being thirty.
Last year, I celebrated my birthday by giving away my novelette Defying Gravity. It was definitely the most exciting day of my life as I watched my book race up the charts, reaching 121 or so on the free list on Kindle (overall) and had over 2000 downloads in one day.
This year, I didn’t do much. Nothing was thrilling, but I still had a nice time.
So far, I haven’t felt any real worries about being in my thirties, except a need to become more established in my career sooner rather than later. Mentally, I don’t feel that old. I still like playing video games, swinging on the swings, going to midnight premieres of movies (but I am exhausted for a couple days after them). I prefer eating pizza instead of “grown-up” food. Physically, I do have quite a few aches and pains, including a bad back, a bad shoulder, developing carpel tunnel, and a bad ankle. Except for the carpel tunnel, all of the other pains are from old injuries. Nothing Ibuprofen can’t handle. Heh. I don’t mind adult responsibilities, but I still enjoy having fun. I hope that remains when I’m 81.
For being 31, I hope to make this the year I have a novel accepted by a publisher, or go forward to plans to self-pub a novel. I hope to continue to self-publish my Foxwick Chronicles. I hope to keep writing and doing what I love.
After all, being 31 isn’t that bad at all.