50 Years Old and what do you get?

First off, Happy New Year. A few days late maybe, but still well meant.

I’ve entered 2014 as a 50 year old; my birthday is late December. As I have always believed that I will live until 100, I see 2014 as a half-way point in my life. Something significant maybe? However, before getting into the whole midlife crisis thing, the year past & the year to come.

2013: Last year was not a productive one for me. My writing was limited to 1½ short stories, one flash fiction story and a couple of thousand words of my novel. On the positive side my short story ‘Crossroads’ was published in the ‘In Fabula-divino’ anthology release back in April; one of my flash fiction stories (written in 2012) was published at AntipodeanSF. I also moved from Sydney to the Central Coast and had a major job change.

2014: This year I’m going to finish my novel, but more about that in my next post. I’m also going to put effort into getting the short stories I’ve already written. This means submitting them over and over until they are accepted. Hopefully there will not be too many overs.

Now, about turning 50. As I’ve already said, I’ve always believed that I will live to 100, making 50 the half-way point of my life.

For the first 10 years of my life I could not read. First, it was discovered when I started school that I was deaf (juvenile deafness, my hearing is mostly good now) and was fitted with hearing aids. Because of this, apparently, I was left to my own devices by my teachers until year 4. I’m told I was allowed to just do whatever I want and no real effort was put into teaching me. However, in year 4 it was discovered that I no longer needed the hearing aids (I’d lost them both in a sand pit, and they tested me for new ones.) My year 4 teacher actually tried to teach me and determined I had dyslexia. A test was done, I was classified as a non-reader, and I was sent to a special class at a school several suburbs away. I was there for years 5 & 6, after this it was decided I could read well enough to go to a regular high school.

I also went to a special reading tutor. The tutor got my mom to read to me; with me following the words. I made her read me The Hobbit.

It was then that I decided that I wanted to write. I even started a story in year 6. It was about the first manned space flight to Mars. My school teacher was so excited about this that she got some man to come and look at it. He said that it was good and that, when I’d finished it, he would see about getting it published. I never finished it. I just dreamed about being a writer for 40 more years.

Now I’m 50, planning to live to 100, and I intend to spend as many years writing as I did dreaming about it. So, if by 90 I haven’t managed to publish a novel I’ll give it up.

Maybe. 

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