Here we are again. Only a few squares left on the calendar, a couple of pots of coffee, two more rounds of ‘good morning’ at the office and this year will belong to the past. I was thinking of where we were last year. Knocking back shots of tequila, if memory serves, to celebrate the release of my first (well, first bookstore) novel. We were playing Truth or Dare, remember? Me asking inappropriate questions, you trying to get out of answering them. Good times. The year before, I spent New Year’s Eve in the bedroom of our Tigard house, listening to the hoots and firecrackers on the street outside our window. Before that it was Vegas and all the bitter brightness of the city. Remember how badly I wanted out of there? How I whined and snivelled and gnashed my teeth? (And saved and scraped and waited, waited, waited…) Now I’ve escaped for good, have lost myself in the pine trees and fog, found a home and a job I like. Life is looking fine at the moment.
So here we are at the end the year and the end of this blog. I’ve come to realize that what I have to say about writing is what I’ve already said a hundred times: Writing is hard. Really fucking hard. This is not a new piece of information to any of us, and my struggles no longer seem to me worth describing. What I want to do now is write the best books I can. I want to read, and be inspired, and try to produce work that matters to me and is going to last. For that I need all the space between two covers and all the fluff between my ears, and I need to shut the fuck up and start listening.
It’s hard to let go of this space. I mean, I love you guys. You’re the people who started me writing and who’ve encouraged me to keep at it, and it scares me more than a little to think about doing this alone. No more study hall, no communal angst. It’ll be just me and my pages. I don’t know how to feel about that.
My hope is that you’ll keep my email address handy (it’s over there ==>>>) so we can carry on with the conversation we’ve started. I’ll be right here. Still writing, still struggling, still trying every day to understand myself and the world well enough that I might write something worth reading.
I hope you’ll be doing the same. As my friend Tetman says, “We are the bearers of the chalice.”
Let’s fill it up.
Love. Kisses. Bear hugs.