So on the 9th of July , the seventh month in our calendar year I turned 34. Being 34 just feels kind of odd. 27, 30 or 33 didn’t feel odd. I haven’t really accomplished much in 3 decades of being on Earth. The beginning of this year when I was still 33 I was hoping this would be a literary year. A year where I would land an agent and so forth…Instead I am approaching 34 rejections on my 3rd manuscript. Ok maybe not that many but it is double digits. I have 34 creative ideas running through my head. Ok maybe 7. I have 34 pages typed in my fourth manuscript. I really think that is accurate. I have entered 3 writing contests. The results are in on two of them. And the winner is…not me. One can not say I haven’t tried to achieve my literary dreams. Will it be the 34th thing I write. Here’s to 34. Maybe I will cry for 34 minutes and let 34 tears roll down the contours of my face.