For a misanthopist, I'm fairly optimistic. Or, at least, I like to busy myself far beyond my human capabilities and then feel inadequate when I inevitably fail. Ah, that makes more sense. This year has been encouraging, despite the over-exertion. I finished the first draft of my novel. I have faith in it. Even though it's killing me to edit.
K I L L I N G M E.
But, slog on I must. I've been spit polishing the first 5,000 words to send to the Myriad Editions retreat competition - the prize is a week's retreat set in beautiful country just 40 minutes away from me. Once I've worked through the remaining 200 odd pages I have left to edit, I'm going to spend a day in the library with the Writers' & Artists' Yearbook and Mr G. Oogle and find a batch of agents to stalk. Then, come January, I'm hoping to flagellate myself a little further by participating in Write 1 Sub 1 - a quest to, yes, write and sub 52 stories during 2011.
Next year, I hope to have a separate page on here, listing my publications, blowing my own shiny little trumpet. Next year, I hope to make it a month without being overdrawn. Next year, I hope to be feeding my happy little compulsion, and my family, with my writing. I know I'm a month too early but here's to 2011. I hope you get what you wish for, too.