Touched By The Birthday Fairy.

It’s my 43rd birthday on Wednesday. I nearly called out to my husband, ‘Hey honey, am I turning 43 this year?’ I can’t believe it’s gotten to that stage. Ha ha ha. When I was much younger, I used to marvel at how any one could forget their age, as so many older folk seemed to do.

Now, I completely understand.

I woke in the middle of last night to a thought storm, which is rare for me. I began ruminating over whether or not to invest in going to a Kid Lit conference in Melbourne that I’ve gone to a few times, called kid lit Vic.

Tickets are extremely expensive, and it is always a serious choice to be made. Do I go, risking nothing coming of it? Or do I take the risk, knowing I very well could come way with the promise of a book deal, or something like it. All the big publishers attend. It’s really the best and only way to get my work in front of some of them.

But the financial pressure put on our family in the name of my art and writing feels too much, at times. Last night (and this morning) was one of those times.

After letting the world know via Instagram that I had decided to go, I received a message from my beautiful sister. What if she and my Dad bought me a ticket to the conference for my birthday?

I cried for ten minutes in the carpark at the shops.

I have never had such pure and direct validation of others’ belief in me, and here was a very serious offer to help, and the inspiration and encouragement to reach for my dreams. A gift I will not forget as long as I live.