Closing and Opening


I didn’t get many words down for NaNoWriMo. Not many at all, and that’s indicative of where my head is at lately more than anything else. Disappointing, sure, but there are other things going on. I spent a little time updating the bibliography last night, and finally put up The Hollow Prince page. The second ebook collection has been out for more than a month, and I’ve been remiss in actually telling people. To overcompensate, I also put up the page for The King in Scarlet, the last of the triptych.

In looking at my bibliography page now, there’s an interesting sense of closure. The very first entry on it is “A Christmas Wish,” my first story back in 1996. The King in Scarlet contains the [redux] version, and I’m struck by the current state of the bibliography is the entirety of my writing career come full circle. I have nothing planned for 2014 (other than putting the three short fiction collections into a print volume), and 2013 was an incredible year of output. Which says something because it felt like 2012 was a pretty banner year as well.

But, because writers writer long before writers get published, this also says that I didn’t write much in 2013. Nor did I blog much. These things might be connected. Maybe they should be. I don’t know. Shortly before Thanksgiving, I went off into the woods with some friends, and had an opportunity for some reflection. Said reflection is still percolating through my brain, but I had a very vivid dream this morning that suggested that I should get on with things. And so I shall.

Change Happens


Typically, I ignore the beginning of the year as an externally-imposed Opportunity For Reflection for the obvious reasons, but I have found myself falling into the trap nonetheless. So, here I am, talking about the past and the future.

I’d rather not, really, and the reasons are part of the continuing issue I have with keeping the personal separate from the professional. Blogging, as a writer, is a means of keeping an open channel with the wider world, but so much of the day-to-day is filled with mundane shit that no one cares about, especially when it is of the “I didn’t get shit done, again, today” variety. And the rest is not really of anyone’s business, and I have, over the last year, come to realize that the last thing I really want to do–ever–is process my private life publicly.

So, briefly, 2011 was an incredibly hard year, but it was also an amazing year, and lot of it falls in the category of “Look, ma! Personal growth!” Professionally, I didn’t have a lot of fiction released that I could point to explicitly and say, “Yes, I wrote that,” but I can point to The Mongoliad and say, “Yes, I was key to that happening.”

In 2007, I wrote The Potemkin Mosaic, and it was the hardest thing I had ever done. When it was finished, I vowed to never do anything like that again. Last year, I didn’t; I did something harder. As we wrap up The Mongoliad, I have heard myself say that I don’t ever want to do something that complicated and difficult again, and in 2012, I won’t be. I’ll be doing something harder.

I am very fortunate to be able to keep what is fabulous and enriching in my life, as well as being blessed at being able to let go of what is rotten and broken. Much of the latter was my own attitude about life; much of it was my own fear of change. Change happens; what we do in response is nothing more than seizing opportunities.

Nothing is ever destroyed. It simply becomes something new. It is up to us to decide whether it is an obstacle or a piece of the foundation of something new. Do we keep climbing, or do we get caught up in the detritus of the past?

I’m climbing. You are all welcome to come along.