The Official age of Old

Ugh... My birthday.

This year is hitting me harder than most years. I'm 35 now.

35

Two years ago when my husband turned 35 - he deemed that as the official "age of old". Of course, now he is regretting that conversation - now that he knows I remember it and that, since it applied to him, it must now apply to me as well.

I'm officially at the age of old... still not published. This is just not my year.

Of course, I know that it's not too late. Pfft, I've probably got another, well, 47 years before I really have to worry.

Why 47? Because that would put me inline with Myrrha Stanford-Smith who, if you'll remember from last year's news, received a three-book deal to publish her trilogy at 82 years young.

So - not too late, not yet. But still, the clock is definitely ticking and the years are going by faster and faster. Maybe I'll feel better about being 35 sometime after I've been published. Or maybe after I give up on the fight against fine lines and wrinkles (no gray hairs just yet... but I'm sure they're plotting).

For now I'll try to get by with simply looking at this as the snooze alarm to my wake up call... Time to get writing!