It’s been a minute since I’ve posted, I know, but that doesn’t mean I’ve gone quiet. Since my last post, I’ve connected or reconnected with two critique groups, have added 27,000 words to the first draft of TO HAVE BEEN RICH, and have led a virtual seminar through the Fox Cities Book Festival.
Oh, and SCAMBAIT, the manuscript in the photo below—I received a full request for it over the weekend.
When 2020 first got underway, an author friend and I were discussing by email how 2020 felt like it might be the year. We both burst onto the scene at about the same time, received our first publishing contracts within days of each other, and this overwhelming sense of momentum and inevitability had us sure 2020 had good things in store.
Then the world went sideways.
But despite the lockdowns, despite mask mandates and cabin fever, the work has continued. It had to if I—if we; you, me, all of us—were going to come out of this okay. Maybe it had to be set aside for a time, sure. Maybe it had to be left to simmer. But in the end, always, our art was and is there for us, and I find that immensely reassuring.
Because for as sideways as the world went this year, there’s still time yet. Don’t count out what days remain. Don’t count out the return of the good fortune you’ve been cultivating. Don’t count yourself out. There are better days ahead.