It's hard to hope if you don't allow yourself to dream.
I turned thirty on Tuesday. There was no big emotional crash, just the usual post-socializing exhaustion. In some ways, it was a relief. I'd been dreading thirty for an entire year. I felt like I'd been living it. Now, I've crossed the line. Now, I just have to accept it and hope that my thirties will actually be better than my twenties. Perhaps a low bar, unless you compare it to everything before.
There are a lot of things I hope for my thirties. Finding my one true love. More energy and opportunity to spend time with friends and family. For my writing to finally get out into the world and reach the right readers. But I also hope for a better world. I hope for healing. For equality. For compassion. I hope for my own healing, too. I hope to grow more in my own compassion - both for others and myself. One is a lot harder than the other. I hope to not be at war with myself as often, or as violently. To forgive myself for the past the same way I've forgiven others.
When it comes to putting my work out into the world, I know I am taking the path I need to. Re-editing Book One was not part of my plan. And while it certainly hasn't been without its frustrations, I have found a renewed passion for my story through the process. The editing skills I've developed over the last four years are bringing my first book to life in a new way. I put so much into writing the beginning of Jane's journey, but there was a part of me that didn't feel totally happy with how it turned out technically. How it compared to other books. I think by the end of this process I will finally be completely proud of my first book. The story I lived and loved since childhood will finally be able to shine. And hopefully, lead readers deeper into the story in Book Two.
So, I'm hoping for a fresh start. I don't entirely know what the path ahead will bring. I still (quite admittedly) don't know what I'm doing regarding marketing. But at least I'll be proud of the books I'm selling.