ruminations on 28

I’m a writer. I wrote my first “book” in the second grade, complete with horrible crayoned illustrations (I am not good at drawing). I’ve finished (at least) 6 full-length novels plus a fair number of short stories. None of my novels have been published yet, though not for lack of trying. It’s been over a year since I wrote anything substantial, and I blame rejection after rejection along with a career in book publishing for that block. I write collaboratively online with friends for fun. In the last month, I’ve written six (!) poems, part of a collection that I hope to complete by May. I’ve submitted three of them for publication, and I’m waiting to hear back. I have countless story ideas (both for short works and for long) in my mind, but I’ve been unable to really sit down and settled on one project (or a voice, or the tone, or the characters). I feel strung-out to dry after years of writing writing writing. I’m hoping my sudden foray into poetry is a turning point for me.

I live in NYC. I have so much to say about the city that this isn’t the place for it. But in a nutshell, I take public transportation everywhere I go, over pay for an apartment by the park, carry heavy bags of groceries 10+ blocks weekly, and jostle around thousands of people daily. I love it.

I work in publishing. Day to day I work with bloggers, social media, web graphic design, author interaction, etc. etc. Most days, I love it. I think it’s one of those things I never thought I knew I wanted to do. Going into English Lit and Creative Writing in college is great for writers or teachers but if you’re not making it as a writer, and you don’t want to teach (I thought I did, once), then what is there? The great wide world of publishing. I’ve had so many awesome opportunities when it comes to my job, and I’m thankful for it. I came to publishing late, without an internship, and I consider it a huge blessing that I was even given the opportunity.

I’m single. I would love to be married and have kids one day. Today, even. But when I look back on the paths I have chosen, I can see where, in each instant, a committed relationship would have steered me down the well-traveled path, the familiar path, rather than the one I took. I want what my parents have. What I see so many of my friends, new and old, have. I want a family. More and more I think I’d like to go the route of adoption. I’m in no place now or in the foreseeable future to do that on my own. I want a husband to share that with. I’m trying to be patient, and some days are easier than others. Honestly.

I consider myself very fortunate to have a loving, supportive family, to have an incredible roommate, to have friends and best friends who I can talk to, to have a handsome nephew who I can Skype with (though I do wish I was closer and could spend more time hugging him). I know I am fortunate, and my faith and love for God has grown over the years because of it. Do I have off days? Yes. Will I continue to have them? Yes. Right now I’m happy, but I will always want more and hope for change (positive change, please). I get antsy and unhappy at times, frustrated, anxious, but I know that in the end I’ll be where I’m supposed to be. That’s what I keep reminding myself, at least.

Today is my birthday. I’m hopeful for a wonderful, full, and exciting 29th year.

Aside: Ruminate is my word of the week.