So I turned 33 on Saturday.
All in all, the birthday was good. I had a nice evening out with friends that ended exactly the way it should have. I didn’t plan anything big because, hey, who wants to celebrate every year when you’re not knocking down the door of a major? 33 is like the Bob Hope Classic, a nice, reliable age where you celebrate another year of surviving on planet earth but are still young enough to make a mark whenever you decide to get off your ass and do it. 35, now that’s a major. That’s the year I’ll be throwing down like I just won the Masters, the PGA Championship, and the US Open all in one fell swoop. All without getting hit on by Tiger Woods.
Yeah, 35, take notice. It’s on, and I’m coming for you.
One thing that I always said I wanted to do by 35 is be published. Lately, I’ve been thinking more and more about self-publishing. Though I’d eventually like to go the New York route, what I want most of all is to see Mulligans In Print. That’s why I decided, as a birthday present to myself, I would commission the book cover. The idea is fabulous (if I do say so myself), and I think that seeing the actual cover plastered all over the bedroom, bathroom, and refrigerator walls (just like the time I was trying to lose weight) is going to be the motivation I need to actually get off my ass and get the final draft production-ready.
October 1 is the goal. Ten lbs lighter, 1 book bigger.