I’ve discovered that aside from learning the mechanics of it, my writing hasn’t changed with age, so much as with experience. I’ve always been a happy, optomistic person (with an admittedly over-developed sense of sarcasm [optomistic cynic–what a life]), and my writing usually reflects that.
When my dad died five years ago, my writing got noticibly darker. It mirrored the feelings I had in me. Then I crawled back into the light, and it showed.
A couple of years ago, things started to go really bad in my marriage. Things got very dark again. The marriage is over, I’ve been through hell, and hauled my writing through it with me.
I’m happy again now. The darkness I went through does show itself in my work sometimes, and it always will. It’s part of me, and will be with me for the rest of my life. I think it makes me more rounded, both as a person and as a writer.
To quote Indiana Jones, “It ain’t the years, honey. It’s the mileage.”