I don’t have much to say. At this point in the year, I usually recap what I’ve accomplished, note items that were successes or disappointments, and lay out a few goals for the coming year.
But I have nothing to report.
Zip. Zilch. Nada.
I have barely touched the book that was 2/3 written at the end of 2017. I didn’t write any new words until NaNoWriMo rolled around in November, and those words had nothing to do with the previously written words. Oh, and those words are also nothing remotely resembling a novel.
I remain hopeful. In spite of the burnout, and in the face of an industry that fluctuates from indifference to implosion on a near-daily basis.
I’m still a writer.
I still have 40 completed works under my belt, two in progress, and dozens of ideas left to nurture. I’m just…doing things a little differently these days.
Writing isn’t my life. It’s not who I am at my essence. It’s just something I like to do. But, I used to love doing it. And I want to get back to that place again.
So here I am, looking forward to 2020 armed with nothing more than a battered ego, a dusty keyboard, and a bucket-full of self-awareness. And, hopefully, I’ll get something done.
Oh, and to that end…don’t look for me on Twitter anymore. I have deactivated my accounts. You can find me on Insta @maggiewells1, the book of Face in all the usual spots, and-as always- here. Like Luke Danes, I’m always here.
Wishing you all the best health and happiness in 2020. Thanks for hanging around with me. <3