Today is my 48th birthday, and so thinking about goals seems appropriate.
Ever since I was in grade school my primary dream/goal has been to be an author. Over the intervening years I have kept the faith and continued the quest -- through the rise (and eventual decline) of Minimalism, the supposed Death of the Novel, the resurgence of Children’s Literature (thanks, Harry Potter!), the dawn of the Information Age, and on into a new Millennium. Along the way -- while juggling jobs, relationships, and my own family -- I have managed to publish two stories, a haiku, a humorous essay, and, this past summer, a poem. So I guess I’m an author, of sorts, but I have yet to achieve my main goal: to write (and publish) a novel.
I have written upwards of 10 different novels in the course of the last 20 years, all of which reached various levels of “completeness” but none of which, so far, has developed into a finished manuscript. Currently I have drafts of two different novels I am working on, either of which might be “the one” that allows me to finally realize my dream. To be honest, some days I fear I will lose the will to keep plugging away, but then I come up with a new character or a scene, and I plunge back in again. I believe I will continue doing so until either I succeed or mortality catches up to me. Until then, I’ll stay hard at work. Wish me luck. It can only be a matter of time, right?
Besides, if I didn’t keep trying to write, what else would I do?