Today is a bittersweet anniversary for me and so I thought about a recent comment I saw about age and writing. I am not that much past thirty, but I think that the importance of experience is often sidestepped when we talk about age.
As a not at all comprehensive list, by the time I was thirty I had:
climbed a mountain, been pushed from a high place and survived, had a machine gun aimed at me, fallen in love, had my heart broken, broke a heart, learned to make triple chocolate delight, forgotten how to make triple chocolate delight, survived a near-fatal illness, gotten trapped with a kite in a place where no one spoke any of the languages that I knew, received a permanent scar from a turkey, lost the man I called “Father”, learned to dance, lost friends, gained friends, built a snow fort, saved someone else from assault, sang my grandmother into death, learned to laugh, learned not to laugh at the hurt of others, lost a dream, built a thousand others
Survived. Survived. Survived.
I’m still here and everyday I’m learning.
I could ask for nothing else.
For the less introspective side of my writing, I have also written a fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor. It is available here.