30 Is the New 20
I can no longer be categorized as “up and coming.” Apparently, I already should have arrived. I was just getting used to the idea of turning 30, when, in one fell swoop, Random House Publishing Group made me want to cry. More on that in a moment.
One of my writing obsessions, for as long as I have been stabbing at writing non-fiction, has been the role of my generation in contemporary society. Well, the stabbing period has been roughly the past decade, which corresponds with that period known dubiously as “my twenties,” and alas, they’re just about over. For the fruit of my labor, I have a computer full of ideas, entries, essays, lists and other miscellany that I will be sorting through in the coming months. I’ve been rather excited about the project—mostly because these coming months are the first in my life that will be fully dedicated solely to my writing since…since…ever.
So, there I am yesterday, in the faculty mail room—picking up mail (duh), photocopying, getting ready to teach my 2:30 class. Just as I am about to leave, I notice announcement on the back of the door, a flyer for a writing contest sponsored by Random House. It’s called The Twentysomething Essays by Twentysomething Writers Contest.
I get excited. I think, “Wouldn’t several of my essays be good candidates for this contest? Especially since most of them contain that undercurrent of twenty-something awareness? Surely, I’ll make the deadline…Even if it’s this year, perhaps it will be before my birthday…Maybe…Possibly.”
Ummmmm…no. The contest deadline isn’t until late 2006, by which time I will be 31. I will be decidedly unqualified, by that time, to enter a contest called “Twentysomething Essays by Twentysomething Writers.” No matter that all of the essays were written way in advance of the big decade-turner.
Out came the little voices. Too bad you didn’t organize earlier. Too bad they didn’t have this contest earlier. Too bad your days of being twentysomething, and therefore understandably confused, are passed. Too bad you haven’t arrived anywhere yet. It’s all just too bad. Suck it up, kid.
Somehow, I don’t think Random House will buy the idea that “30 is the new 20.” But that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
One of my writing obsessions, for as long as I have been stabbing at writing non-fiction, has been the role of my generation in contemporary society. Well, the stabbing period has been roughly the past decade, which corresponds with that period known dubiously as “my twenties,” and alas, they’re just about over. For the fruit of my labor, I have a computer full of ideas, entries, essays, lists and other miscellany that I will be sorting through in the coming months. I’ve been rather excited about the project—mostly because these coming months are the first in my life that will be fully dedicated solely to my writing since…since…ever.
So, there I am yesterday, in the faculty mail room—picking up mail (duh), photocopying, getting ready to teach my 2:30 class. Just as I am about to leave, I notice announcement on the back of the door, a flyer for a writing contest sponsored by Random House. It’s called The Twentysomething Essays by Twentysomething Writers Contest.
I get excited. I think, “Wouldn’t several of my essays be good candidates for this contest? Especially since most of them contain that undercurrent of twenty-something awareness? Surely, I’ll make the deadline…Even if it’s this year, perhaps it will be before my birthday…Maybe…Possibly.”
Ummmmm…no. The contest deadline isn’t until late 2006, by which time I will be 31. I will be decidedly unqualified, by that time, to enter a contest called “Twentysomething Essays by Twentysomething Writers.” No matter that all of the essays were written way in advance of the big decade-turner.
Out came the little voices. Too bad you didn’t organize earlier. Too bad they didn’t have this contest earlier. Too bad your days of being twentysomething, and therefore understandably confused, are passed. Too bad you haven’t arrived anywhere yet. It’s all just too bad. Suck it up, kid.
Somehow, I don’t think Random House will buy the idea that “30 is the new 20.” But that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Labels: my disaffected postadolescence, thoughts theories and discussions
posted by Jill at
12:58 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home