Today’s blog should have been yesterday’s but I got a little carried away working on the next chapter of Morbidon’s Bride and forgot to post on my blog. So here it is, Monday’s blog coming in late for work.
I’ve been thinking about my age a lot lately, probably because I recently ticked another birthday off the calendar.
Most days, I still look around and marvel that I’m finally out of high school, as it seemed like my childhood went on forever and I used to lament that I would never grow up.
Given how long ago high school was for me, this might seem strange that I still feel so young, but it has a lot to do with my certainty that I’m only masquerading as an adult and someone is going to figure me out sooner or later.
However, passing over the proverbial hill, though I didn’t feel the epiphany on the actual day, has left me feeling a bit more introspective about my age. The gray hairs couldn’t do it. The fine lines deepening each day couldn’t do it, but the number in the “age” box on any forms I fill out has finally managed to get to me.
Physically, I’m not moving any slower. Mentally, my mind is moving even faster, paranoid now about the inevitable passage of time. So many books to write, so little time! My own mortality is real now, rather than a long distant future concern.
I know I’m not that old. Given the longevity in my family tree, I could easily live for another fifty-plus years. It’s just that I’m going through that moment that most people experience as teenagers graduating high school. I’m finally acknowledging that I’m an adult, and I’m panicked about how I’m supposed to act like one.
Then there’s the other problem. My characters are now younger than me, in general. The further I get away from their age, the more I doubt my ability to properly portray them. Don’t get me wrong. They’re almost alive to me, so usually it’s easy to represent their actions and dialogue in a genuine way, but it’s a little harder to get inside the head of a sixteen-year-old now.
I spend a lot of time in other people’s heads. Not real people, I swear. I never completed that mind reading course from the Psychic Institute. 😉 However, even living inside the head of imaginary people can change your perception on your own life a bit. Perhaps that’s the real reason why I took so long to let go of a childhood I was in such a hurry to grow out of. When you’re a kid, imaginary friends are normal. When you’re an adult, you have to let go of all the magic and become a part of the real world. I’m not ready to leave the magic behind. Some days, it’s the only thing that keeps me going.
What do you think?