 |
| http://www.forgettingourselves.com/ |
Ten years ago, I would've said my being a writer was crazy. At the tender age of nineteen, I wanted to be an actor/opera singer. I thought I would be married by now, living in NYC or London or Paris. I would've been on Broadway or the Met. Oh, yes, I was ambitious and had goals that shot to the stars and above. I studied to be an actor/opera singer, but then things fell apart. It didn't bring as much joy, and the road looked to be so hard. I had to admit although I had some talent, I wasn't good enough. I knew this.
Plans changed.
Today, I'm single, still living at home (don't make enough to live on my own and have too many bills...yes, those student loans kill you), and I'm a full-time library assistant by day, a part-time freelance editor (often by day and night), and a writer (day and night). It's not what I had planned, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
As for the future, I don't know what will happen. Ten years from now, I hope I'm still writing. I hope I've paid off my student loans and tried not to acquire more. Oh, shiny MFA in Creative Writing and/or Masters in Library Science, you tempt me so. It'd be nice to have a place of my own for my books and I might live there too. *laughs* It'd be nice to have a novel in the library/bookstores/etc.
Turning 29 wasn't bad, and I am really looking forward to 30. I feel like I'm at a good place in my life. Now, if I could just stop wanting to rush things to get that novel ready to submit to agents. True, I have time, but I would like to reach that step before 30. *grins*
