On turning 40

Although my grandmother wouldn't find it very "ladylike" to announce my age to everyone on the internet, this particular milestone has taken up a lot of space in my brain lately, so I'm going to go ahead an (over?)share. Besides, it's not like information is private anymore. It would take someone all of 4.2 seconds to find out what I ate for dinner last night, never mind my DOB. (I'll save you the trouble. Pizza.)

My husband threw a little shindig for me this past weekend and I have to admit, it did soften the blow of such a, uh, grown up birthday. Forty. Four to the zero. The big 4-oh. Yikes. I really can't pretend to be just a kid anymore, can I?

As much as I'm going to hate no longer being thirty-something, it's an excellent time to recount where I am in life, and where I want to be. I couldn't be more happy about my husband and friends. Truly. And my girls...oh, did I mention that they wrote and recited poetry in my honor in front of a room full of people? No? Allow me just that one brag.

But my career. Well. That area needs some work. I admit I'd hoped to have a book published before The Great Day of Reckoning. That would've made the day perfect. Instead, I'm still trudging along. Making progress, yes, and not giving up, but continuing to swim slowly through a vast ocean of publishing molasses.

Still. I'm determined to get there. My craft has improved, and I'm more confident about how to go about actually finishing 300 pages of fiction in a somewhat organized fashion. I started a new project after weeks of hemming and hawing (my agent refers to this as "percolating" which sounds much more productive) and I'm excited to be working on a novel again.

The goalpost might've been moved, but I can still see it.

How about you? Any goals for the upcoming year?

"So, how did you two meet?"

East coast prep school/business school workaholic boy.

Midwestern public school/State U not-quite-so-serious girl.

It's a question my husband and I get asked a lot. I think what people really want to know is more along the lines of, "Why are you two together?" He's been serious about school, life, everything from the day he was born. Not so much me. 

He would answer the question, "At work, where else?" but that's only half the story. 

I met him semi-fresh out of college. My cousin gave me a job as a marketing assistant for his company that sold software to the plastics industry, which always reminded me of The Graduate. I was thankful for this job, as the pickings were slim back in 1993, and it took me from Missouri to sunny California, near L.A. 

Only it wasn't so near. Ever heard of the Inland Empire? No? Let's just say there won't be any episodes of The Real Housewives of the Inland Empire anytime soon.

Soon I learned that a job in plastics just wasn't for me. For one, I didn't really understand how it all worked. There were computers, there were these huge machines, and something called resin. That's about all I can say. And I desperately wanted to move to the Big City, the City of Angels, where all dreams come true! Only...doing what? I hadn't exactly torn up the marketing world with my plastics experience. Advertising was cool, maybe I'd give that a shot. But I needed to pay the bills like, now. So, I decided (temporarily!) to temp. 

And that's how I met my husband. I was his temporary secretary while someone was out on maternity leave. I was undoubtedly the WORST secretary in the history of office work. Seriously, I wouldn't wish me on anyone. For starters, I couldn't type. Oh sure, I'm fast now, but then? Pbbbtt, forget about it. I don't know why the temp agency ever hired me. My poor boss (yes, him!) would go into my files after I left for the day and correct my many mistakes. 

He was kind of shy, but still, I could tell he dug me. We flirted at the office, but I had to make the first move and ask him out. I told him my secret: that I wasn't really a secretary. I was a writer. Still working on that one.

Thank god I found a job in advertising and eventually left, because my future in office administration was bleak. 

So how about you? How did you meet your SO? Or , if you don't have one, your best friend? 

Doesn't *everyone* want to know what I had for lunch?

Did you catch the cover article by Emily Gould in the New York Times Magazine this weekend? That's her on the right, not me, I don't have any tats. I hadn’t followed her drama on her blog, but apparently she overshares about her life and it ended up biting her in the ass. She was an editor on Gawker (one of my favorite sites, even though--or maybe precisely because--it is incredibly snarky) and, long story short, thousands of people read the details of her life and started harassing her about it.

It did get me thinking about the whole blogging thing—how much is too much to share, and how would I handle it if people started criticizing me publicly?

Truth? I’d hate it. I have a decently thick skin when it comes to constructive criticism about my writing, but if someone doesn’t like how I live my life, they can shove it. Which, of course, begs the question as to why I’m keeping a blog in the first place.

I’d love to hear about other people’s experiences with trolls, nasty comments, or oversharing, so if you have any, lay it on me.