This blog turned a year old this past week.
That's a pretty big milestone for me. I've never been very good at sticking to a blog schedule. I'll make it six months, eight months, but I think this is the first time I've made it an entire year.
When I started this blog a year ago, I had just sent out the submission packet for Evin. "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" was in publication limbo. I had just started meeting with my writing partner and trying to find local writing groups.
This blog's anniversary is the anniversary of my making a conscious decision to actively pursue writing. Not to the exclusion of my day job (because that is still not feasible), but in addition to it. Basically, this time last year, I took on another job--one that takes up as much time as my day jobs and, at this point, pays me mostly in the feeling of accomplishment or wonder or frustration that comes with taking something from my head and putting it on paper.
In this year, my first novel has been published. My short story has made its debut. I've successfully pitched for an anthology. I've written, rewritten, and re-rewritten a project that I've been working on since high school. I've sent queries, gone to conferences, and met with agents. I've found a writing group in my community. I started an author website.
But most importantly, I've written.
I've written more this past year than ever before in my life. Granted, not all of it has been good and sometimes the doing has been a struggle, to put it mildly. But I've written. I've finished projects and started new ones. I've revised and outlined and retooled and expanded.
It's been great.
I'm not sure how my writing career, such as it is, will progress in the next year. There are still queries out, still lumps in projects that need to be smoothed, still stories that have upcoming due dates. There will be more conferences and revisions and drafts.
I'm not sure what's next. But I am looking forward to it.