Tomorrow, I turn 27. And therefore, I'll have three years to publish at least one book by the time I turn 30. "What If They Lived?" was an impressive feat at 26, but I want to do it again. And hopefully again, and again, and again.
I have my novel, and I have my book about the presidents' reading habits. One of those two must be in print by then. I've embraced the challenge in the research thus far, I know the challenges still to come, and though whichever I'm done with first won't be a free ride like "What If They Lived?" was, I'm prepared to do all the hard work that comes with seeking to get a book published.
Today, I rest and read. Tomorrow, I celebrate another year of life to enjoy. Tuesday, the day before my sister's birthday (yep, a one-day gap, though we're five years apart, with her born in 1989), I get back to work. I will not waste one day of these next three years. Having a book published is really addictive. I'd like to get that feeling again.