Someone once said, ‘there’s nothing wrong with me that a book deal can’t fix.’ It might have been me, but the point still stands. Every little ounce of self-doubt, self-flagellation and self-sabotage seems like it would just fade away once I’ve got that little piece of paper signed and sealed, locking me into a book deal with one publisher or another. Of course, it’s a gross simplification, some things will take longer, require more effort and generally just be a painfully obnoxious needle digging into my psyche. By and large though, despite a need for perfection that will likely never die, there will always be a trace of that doubt in me. I believe in my writing, I believe in my characters and my story, but those who know me will tell you quite freely that I do not accept compliments easily. I’m getting there, though, and that’s the important thing.
Back to the point at hand though, I rang in 2012 with the same, monotonous celebrations as most years, spent at a pub, having a good time, I confess, but enjoying the end of one laborious year about as much as I enjoyed stepping on a rusty nail that one time, only to welcome what I thought would be another trying year, where all I looked forward to was waking up on December 22nd and being able to laugh at the crazies who spent all year and most of the previous decade stockpiling supplies for the apocalypse. In the end, 2012 turned out rather well indeed, and I spend the end of the year in Switzerland with new additions to my family, eagerly awaiting what I hope to be a grandly rewarding year for me.
It could have been better, it could have been worse. Same shit, different day, etc. 2013 will no doubt have ups and downs but already my life is changing, moving forward and showing signs of bringing me closer to that which I have hungered for so savagely.
To all of you reading, liking, following this blog, have a great night and I hope for you all a year like the one I am eagerly anticipating. *waves*