Please note: this piece contains strong language
For the last 18 years, I have had an irrational fear of turning 36.
For the 18 years prior to that, all I wanted to be was 18. And near the end of October 2020, it will have happened. I will have been 18 twice.
I got a fright at 30. Life was moving too fast and I hadn’t done any of the things I thought I would have achieved. I hadn’t purchased my first home. I’d been stuck in the same job since the age of 16. I didn’t have the courage to submit my work anywhere.
Something had to change. And that thing was me.
At 30, I began writing every day. Six months later, a short story was published in an anthology about my hometown. I switched off the TV and read more books.
At 32, I bought my first home. Something that will belong to my teenage son when I’m gone. Far off in the future, hopefully.
Four months later, I went to Moniack Mhor for the first time, propelling myself out of my secure comfort zone and receiving validation that the anthology publication wasn’t a fluke. I was given validation that I could write.
At 33, more short stories and flash fiction were published. More trips to Moniack gave me the courage to attend book festivals on my own, knowing that I’d spot a familiar face. And if I didn’t, there was always a friendly face in the bar.
At 34, first name terms with authors I’d admired. The ability to shake off rejections without delving into a slump. Learning slowly to realise it’s not personal. It never was. Studying books on the craft. Knowing that every first draft is a pile of pish and powering through, regardless.
One month after turning 35, I was invited down south to meet with a Literary Agent. My dream agent.
Four hours on a train, listening to motivational songs by RuPaul.
My knees knocked together while I waited for our appointment, but I never let it show. Walking away from the appointment with an exclusive full manuscript request.
36 is just four months away. In the last six months since I went down south, the world has turned to shit. Fires. A global pandemic. Black people still being murdered by those that should know better and them getting away with it. The loss of loved ones due to an incompetent government.
Fearing 36 feels pretty silly compared to all that. Look what I have achieved. My hope for the future is that we all can do better.