It happens every year, the sudden disappearance of house guests and visitors bearing good will, the deconstruction of the decorative holiday themes, the storage of seasonal treasures, and, sadly, the results of too many rich foods and drinks. The weather turns to grim gray days and long cold nights. brighteannual arrival of the seed catalogs and their promise of bountiful spring and summer. The holiday season is truly over when the annual arrival of the seed catalogs and their promise of bountiful spring and summer arrive in profusion to brighten the mail.
But the end of holidays now means that we have to get back to living our chosen lives, struggling to write despite difficulties, frustrations, and setbacks. That work set aside for the holidays is now back, demanding attention, forcing the mind to grasp the thread of plot, the characters' foibles, and however the devil you intended for it to end. Only gradually, does the mental fog dissipate and reveal the way forward. Slowly you bring back the thread and hunker down to progress and, hopefully, finish.
The arrival of the new year is a time to plan, to make promises to yourself. Each year I pledge to have at least five pieces published and to write at least twice that many. Usually I do the latter, but fail on the former, although that is usually made up in the long haul when a sale of only four is followed by a year, such as 2012, where I can place six pieces in publications. I probably write a novel's worth of words in any year, spread over fifteen to twenty finished pieces of various lengths. Some are parts of longer works I plan, those that are complete stories fail to find a willing editor, and most are in continual circulation ever seeking a receptive audience.
As ever I enter the year with high hopes, working against the tide of time, doing what I want, and at a pace I can maintain over the long haul.
But the end of holidays now means that we have to get back to living our chosen lives, struggling to write despite difficulties, frustrations, and setbacks. That work set aside for the holidays is now back, demanding attention, forcing the mind to grasp the thread of plot, the characters' foibles, and however the devil you intended for it to end. Only gradually, does the mental fog dissipate and reveal the way forward. Slowly you bring back the thread and hunker down to progress and, hopefully, finish.
The arrival of the new year is a time to plan, to make promises to yourself. Each year I pledge to have at least five pieces published and to write at least twice that many. Usually I do the latter, but fail on the former, although that is usually made up in the long haul when a sale of only four is followed by a year, such as 2012, where I can place six pieces in publications. I probably write a novel's worth of words in any year, spread over fifteen to twenty finished pieces of various lengths. Some are parts of longer works I plan, those that are complete stories fail to find a willing editor, and most are in continual circulation ever seeking a receptive audience.
As ever I enter the year with high hopes, working against the tide of time, doing what I want, and at a pace I can maintain over the long haul.
thanks for share.
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