One day
into my twenty-second year and I find myself saying “We’ll take it one day at a
time.” Plans for the future are grand and it’s bright, but it’s also wide open.
There’s no telling what can happen, and that’s as exciting as it is scary.
I’ve never
had any inclination to be career driven. It’s not my desire to sacrifice time
with my family and friends for a career in an environment where people are
constantly trying to claw their way to the top. That’s not me, it’s not for me.
I just want to be a writer. It’s all I’ve ever really wanted, since it became
one of the things I found I was actually good at. For a kid like I was, that
was a huge deal. It still is.
What do you
tell prospective employers when they ask what your career goals are? Where you
see yourself in ten years? It feels like a trick question. They want someone
who’s going to be with the company for a long time and that’s understandable. I
could be with their company for a long time, but it’s not my primary goal. I’m
not lying in my cover letter when I say I’m open to any opportunity that comes
my way, but the bottom line is, I want a publishing contract with a big New
York publishing house that will market my book to the paranormal romance crowd.
I want to rub elbows with the likes of Yasmine Galenorn, Karen Marie Moning,
and J. R. Ward, just to name a few.
My career
goal? Mr. Interview man? It’s to be chained to my computer. Tied to deadlines
and biting my nails when the release date rolls around and the bestseller lists
come out. Where do I see myself in ten years, you ask? Married to my Bear. Some
sort of publishing deal. Maybe a few kids. A cat or two. Maybe a dog. Nothing
too terribly complex. No drawn out plan of this is going to happen here and
that’s going to happen there. No two and a half kids in four years plan.
Whatever happens, happens. I will roll with it and honestly, so long as Bear
and I are together, that’s enough for me in the immediate future.
I met my
goal for the first twenty odd years of my life. I wanted to graduate from high
school with honors. I did that, placing fourteenth in the top twenty. I wanted
to go to college and experience that lifestyle. I did that, living away from
home for the first time in a dorm and getting my degree in three and a half years.
I wanted to avoid the mistakes of my brother and cousins. So far, I’ve done
that. No debt. No arrest records. No major muck-ups that I’d be ashamed to tell
my kids about. Not only that, but I’m still in my first major relationship.
Five and a half years together and going strong, marching into our future
together. We’re unusual, I understand that, and we got very lucky to find each
other so young. The funny thing about us, though, is the image we project to
others. My family, at least. It would seem they think that we never fight. I
guess they think we’re still in the early lovey-dovey stages. That died a long
time ago, dear. But we love each other and we treat each other like it, no
matter how furious we make each other.
I also
admit I was very lucky to find a man who puts up with all my crap and loves me
enough to never back away, no matter how hard I push.
Is it any
wonder I feel so blessed?
What do I
want for the next twenty-two years of my life? A family. A writing career, on
my terms and not a newspaper’s or magazine’s. It’s simple, but simple is good.
It’s gotten me this far in life. And unlike others, I’m happy.
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