Last year wasn’t easy, not for me, not for a lot of people I know. It was a year of disappointment, dashed hopes, conflict and tension, stress and exhaustion. 2014 was a year full of loss and anger, and so so much grief. It was a year of coming to terms with a hell of a lot, of looking failure in the face and not blinking.
One probably shouldn’t wish years of their life to vanish, but holy crap, I could not wait for 2014 to be over. It’s on the top ten list of worst years in my life.
The day job dug a hole ten feet deep and tossed me into it. My schedule–which is carved in freaking granite–means I’m gone ten to eleven hours a day, and exhausted when I get home. Finding a way out of that hole is a major goal in the new year.
Writing last year was strange. I wrote all the time, thousands and thousands of words, but I didn’t finish a new novel. I revised, I copy edited, I wrote blog posts, I got projects started to come back to later–so many words. Part of the feeling of failure comes from not being able to point to anything and say See? That’s what I did, that’s how I spent my time.
My second book came out in 2014. That was amazing, thrilling, and exhausting (the theme of the year) for me. The amazing and thrilling part might only apply to me. But it’s my book, so that’s probably a given. Another goal for the new year is not to let the disappointment of others get to me as much as it did last year. Because being able to feel disappointment rolling toward me in fucking endless waves,from several different quarters, did get to me, and it ate into my confidence.
The anger I’m keeping. Scratch the surface of almost any woman writer and you find anger. Feminist rage even. Those are blog posts of their own. There will be more blogging this year, as in days of yore. Buy a helmet.
2015 is one day old. A fresh year and a fresh start, a time to begin again.
Against A Brightening Sky comes out October 6th. It is my favorite of the three Gabe and Delia books, the one nearest to my heart. I refuse to believe that the fact it means something to me is the kiss of death. What that truly means is that I put all that I had into this novel and lived to tell the tale.
Whether all that I had was enough for readers is a tale to tell at the end of 2015. I’m not going to apologize for the rock solid relationships, the mutual respect and love the characters have for each other, the fact my characters serve as the best examples of their time and not the worst, or that my human monsters do violent, monstrous things.
These are the stories I have to tell, made of truth and lies, sorrow and a dash of love.
Kinda like life. Onward.