I wrote my first full-length novel at the age of 11. It covered seven sheets of lined notebook paper and, if memory serves, had something to do with a plane crashing in a jungle. Ever since then I have wanted to be a novelist.
That was over 40 years ago; I’m still waiting.
The years have not been a waste (well, not completely, anyway); I managed to finish a half dozen or so really bad novels, which turned out to be good practice for the last two I wrote which are (and I have the words of a publishing professional to back this up) pretty good. But so far, no contract.
In the meantime, I keep myself busy writing blogs, working on more novels and, of course flogging my Postcards Trilogy.