03. January 2019 · Write a comment · Categories: writing · Tags:

When one sits at the beginning of a new year, one tends to reflect. I tend to reflect light off my head (because I have no hair and I moisturise my scalp). As I writer, I tend to reflect on writerly things, like:

  • Where did 2018 go? I know it’s around here somewhere. I saw it about a week ago, but now it’s gone.
  • What writing did I do in 2018 that I would be proud of? Should I be proud of anything I wrote in 2018? (Spoiler, alert, I should be – there was some good stuff. There was also stuff that should be consigned to a compost heap and pissed on before igniting thermite over it and eradicating it from the universe.)
  • Is there something I started in 2018 I should be finishing in 2019? Seriously, is there? I can’t remember. It would be something with words in it that doesn’t look quite finished yet. There might be more than one things.
  • Do I have targets for 2019 that are attainable? Almost attainable? No hope in hell of being attainable? Good. There should be a couple of things in each category.
  • Are there events in 2019 that I should attend that are like events in 2018 I should have attended but found a lame reason not to?
  • Are there network opportunities in 2019 that I will find lame excuses to avoid?
  • Has my drinking increased over the past year? If not, why not?
  • When will I be able to sleep a full night’s sleep again?

January has a fresh chill to it, biting cold if the wind picks up, which has me wondering why I’m bathed in sweat, 26 degrees C at 10:30 at night. And then I remember that I’m in Australia and January is hot and nothing is normal here.

If you write, I sincerely hope 2019 is the year you break through to a new level. If you read, I hope you read some of my stuff. It’s not that bed. Really.