I can’t remember much about this time last year. I don’t remember what I did for New Year’s Eve (I suspect nothing). I don’t remember whether I at least bought a bottle of bubbly and rang in the New Year solo (possible) or whether I simply fell asleep and woke up in 2016 (highly likely). I remember a few days into the year winning an award for a short story collection I’d done and being absolutely, positively sure that 2016 would have special significance for me and for my writing. At the end of the year, I am ankle-deep in a PhD programme I’m passionate about and wading around in one finished manuscript and two unfinished ones.
At the end of the year I can’t say that 2016 saw the achievement of any recent writing dreams. An agent and a publishing deal are still in the future somewhere, as is the pinnacle of any best-selling list. What I can say is that 2016 will always be, for me, the year of the return to self, in so many more ways than one, and that can only mean good things for my writing.
This year I’ll be watching the new year dawn through my bedroom window, at my desk, working on one or the other of my manuscripts or my research project. Next New Year’s Eve, I’m positive that I’ll remember that.
Here’s to a healthy, happy and fulfilling 2017!