I’ve been 24 years old for the last day. So far feels very similar to most recent ages. Although 18 now seems like a million years ago, which it didn’t last birthday. My awkward 18th birthday party was 6 years ago, and feels a lot longer. I suppose that’s because at 18 I was looking forward, kinda, to going to university and the future seemed bright. But now, university is behind me and the future is as uncertain as ever.
During sixth form I was advised by many people not to do creative writing at university, that I would never make it as a writer and there was no money there anyway. I didn’t care about the money, and still don’t. I’m glad I didn’t listen to them. I could have a much better job, most jobs fit that criteria, which would mean more money. I could have given up on writing, or pushed it to the side back then and never tried to live my dreams. But thanks to my very supportive parents I didn’t do that. My Mum always said that if everyone gave up then there wouldn’t be any authors, and my Dad used to read my stories and give them to people at his work.
My dream during sixth form was to have a part time job, while also writing as much as possible, hopefully having an income from it. To an extent that has come true. I write at least 3 days a week, even if it’s not a lot of words. I have a job, zero hour contract job, but still a job. Almost part time. I’m moving in with my girlfriend and paying my fair share in bills, without hassle. I regularly upload chapters and stories on here, and some people actually read them. I notice people coming back and liking several chapters, and not just people I know in real life. That is an amazing feeling, whenever I see that. It may not be what I thought it would be, it’s a hell of a lot more work than I ever dreamed, but to some degree I’ve achieved what I set out to do. I’ve written 3 full books. 1 novella and a few handfuls of short stories. Not all of these are on here, yet, but they will be. I think 18 year old me would be proud of 24 year old.
18 was 6 years years ago, in 6 years time I’ll be 30. That is insane to think that it’s that close. Not that the age of 30 bothers me in any way. Maybe I’ll feel different in 6 years time. I don’t have aims for that year, and I’ve been thinking about it. I’m taking writing seriously. That’s my main aim, to continue to do that. Even if no one reads anything I write in 6 years, I hope I’m still trying. If I give up at age 28, or whatever, then 30 will feel crap. I’m sure I’ll remember writing this, as I try to sleep and I would be disappointed. But that isn’t going to happen. Even if no one continues to read my stories I’ll continue writing them. My next aim is to get them to print. I did one a few years back, and hope that I will have another one out by the end of this year. The Broken Pocket Watch is finished, it just needs editing. Which I absolutely hate doing. I have no problem uploading it to here, as I can change it constantly, but print is more permanent. If I didn’t upload things until I was happy with the editing, nothing would ever go up here.
The last film I watched as a 23 year old was Yoga Hosers, which I really enjoyed. It feels very reminiscent of Puppet Master, in a good way and was a good enjoyable film. It reminds me of Scott Pillgrim, which is one of my favourite films, in its unique presentation. Almost like a comic book. The film follows to teenage clerks who end up fighting an army of Nazi bratwurst soldiers. It’s weird, stupid and fun. I would watch it again.
I’m not reading anything at the moment, but I’m hoping to find something with my birthday money to start soon. As I’m moving soon, my unread books are in boxes somewhere and I don’t have access to them, at least without hassle.
Thanks for reading,
I started this post, as when I was looking through my previous posts recently, I noticed I had written one every year about my birthday since I started this blog almost 5 years ago. I didn’t know what to write, so I just started writing and words happened.