. . . but it’s okay, since no one woke me up, not even the dog. The house is quiet, the Christmas tree is on, the fireplace is lit, and a brewed pot of coffee was ready to be poured when I padded to the kitchen.
Today is my birthday. It isn’t a day I usually look forward to. I do my best to plod through it, but it is a day I miss my grandparents so much I can hardly breathe. I miss my mom too, who would be here with us at this time of year, spending too much money on the boys for Christmas, and attempting to do something grand for my birthday.
This has been quite a year for me. Last year at this time I was filling out a bid package for work at the Air Force Academy that I didn’t really want, but got. It has been a tumultuous year in that regard. It is always a roller coaster ride, but one that I think may be coming to an end sooner than expected. The contract extension I expected to go through the end of July, may not be extended, which means at the end of January, I’ll be done.
From a writing standpoint, this has been an incredible year. My Crested Butte Cowboy series has hit a mini-stride. Books are selling like I never expected them to, even pre-orders for a book I hope to work on today, are selling. A phenomenon I can’t always wrap my head around.
I went on a book tour to my beloved Crested Butte, and met some really wonderful people. And to my first writers’ conference, where I met more. My hopes skyrocketed, and then plummeted, and then skyrocketed again. It’s the way of the publishing world. What I thought I’d write when I began this journey less than three years ago, isn’t what I’m writing at all. And that’s okay. In the year ahead, I’ll write even more of that I never thought I’d write, in order to advance the writing I thought I would.
This year I’ve made friends I’ve never met. Another side effect of being a writer. Online relationships are formed out of support for one another as writers, or with readers, or with people who allow me to ask questions about their world, so in turn I can write about it in a way that is real, and authentic. I count some of those people among my closest friends. I suppose it isn’t any different than Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett, without the subsequent romance.
I saw people this year, who I never thought I’d see again, renewing friendships that have grown to be so important to me. I cannot tell you how much my faithful band of beta readers mean to me, and getting to see a few of them this summer, was magical.
I spent time with other friends too, who mean the world to me, some of whom I never thought I’d see or talk to again. I never understood high school reunions, but now I do, although it isn’t likely I’ll ever go to one.
When I sat down to write this post, I expected it to be very different. More of a timeline of things I did this year, a recollection. But instead, in writing this, I realize once again that the events of the year—every year—revolve around the importance of the people in my life. Relationships, that’s the stuff life, and great books, celebrate.
