In two unrelated pieces on other topics I listed the things I have done to move forward as a writer in the last year. I couldn’t believe it when I saw everything laid out this way. Did I really do all that, and loose my father in the middle of all of it? Had I given myself this list of things to accomplish, I am sure none of it would have gotten done. The best strategy for me seems to be to focus on small short term goals which apparently I have no problem accomplishing, letting the long term goals take care of themselves.

I have attended three writer’s conferences, pitched more than fifteen agents, had my manuscript edited by a professional editor, rewritten the outline for that novel and am currently nine chapters in to the rewrite for it,  taken three writing classes, set up a website and blog, hired a coach, and even sent three pieces out for submission. I’ve joined a critique group, interned with a literary agent (The list of accomplishments and events there is impressive, but I am not sure how much I can post about that.), and written the first draft of a novel in November, then turned around and wrote 55,000 words on a rewrite by the end of December, as well as several essays and short stories. I have also done two public readings of my work, something I would not have seen the point in doing before. Because of the people I have met in the last year, I feel like I am a real part of the local writing community, and have made some good friends and work contacts; some extend all the way to New York.

The last third of the year became difficult as it seemed all the worst aspects of grief reared their nagging head. Anxiety and fatigue, plus a few other terrifying symptoms (apparently no big deal but at the time I didn’t know that) conspired to keep me from doing more than an hour’s worth of work per day in October. This was depressing, but I used the time to go back to my first love: reading. I read “The Writer’s Portable Mentor,” and “Reading Like a Writer” in October and felt these books gave me permission to read again, and make this a more serious part of my life. It was like coming home, or maybe everything just felt so much more profound around that time. Either way, I ended the year with a better perspective on what I am trying to do, and what I will need to do to get there. November came with the need to finish a half marathon and a novel draft so somehow I rallied and completed both.*

I have also written dozens of blog posts, frustrated by how much time I spend on these when I haven’t sent much out for submission by comparison. In this coming year I would like to see myself spend a maximum of a half hour on each blog post, and invest the time in to my novels, short stories and essays instead.

2010 was a good year; I felt more than ever that the path I am on is the right one. 2011 began with tons of work for me to do, both as an editor, and as a writer. There is lots to look forward to: two writer’s conferences and possibly a third, finishing another draft of one of these novels, or both, making new friends and contacts, and watching my friends move ahead are just a few. I feel like I am back on track and my mood more optimistic than it has been in months.  The fact that we’ve had only crisp, clear, almost cloudless days since January 1 also has to mean something right?

* For this I would like to thank Providence’s grief support group for giving me so much to look forward to and making what I was going through not seem completely unmanageable (ironically by making me see that it was in fact, something I couldn’t manage. This took the pressure and guilt off).