Skip to main content

Second Annual Last Post of the Year

So I just re-read my end of the year post for 2014, in which I laid out four modest goals for the upcoming year:

1. Find a home for Antiartists: COMPLETE
The book will be published by Pen Name Publishing Spring 2016
 
2. Develop a network of writers and readers: COMPLETE (ongoing)
From my publisher, Dionne, my new writer buddies Scott Thompson, Lev Butts, and Mike Hansen, my Twitter pals Tim and Salome' from Ghostwood Books, and all of you that check this thing out on a regular basis, a massive thank you is in order.  My regular readership for this blog has more than doubled in the last year, from a very (VERY) modest number to a slightly higher very modest number.  You can help by sharing this with others if you like it, by liking my stuff on Facebook, by following me on Twitter.  I'm literally counting on you for my success.  Spread the word.
  
3. Finish the new novel, Flagg: COMPLETE
With a ridiculous amount of support (and incredible editing) from my brilliant wife, Sheri, I finished a new novel in a year, a personal best.

4. Stay positive and moving forward: I'm going to call this one good, too, despite a few struggles with apathy and mild depression, coupled with tragedy and familial stress. I have kept it together pretty well, all things considered.

So.  Let's look forward, shall we?

New goals for 2016:

1. Write a new book:  I think the new book will be four novellas, each between 25,000 and 35,000 words, a la Different Seasons, or the Bachman Books.  I've got ideas for four different stories, all of them different but with similar themes of growth and hope and letting go.  It is possible that one of these will develop into a full novel, but for now I'm thinking of them as too long for shorts but too short for novels.  These are all things I have been putting off while I finished my current project, and now they can have my attention.  Regardless of the outcome, I fully intend to have a new publishable book by the end of next year.

2. Find a home for Flagg: The book is good.  I'm confident this will happen.

3. Have a good launch for Antiartists: I'm a bit nervous about this, but I believe in my work.  I believe that good stuff will find an audience.  I believe in being patient and in developing a good, engaged readership.  I believe given my very modest expectations and goals for this strange little novel, this will be a good result at the end of 2016.

4. Remember to be present to love and savor the fleeting life I have been given.  Remember to be thankful for all of my many blessings. Because I'm better off, more comfortable, more happy and at peace than I would ever have expected.  Life is never easy, but it is better now than it has ever been.  I have a lot of growing still to do, professionally and artistically and personally, and I don't know what I ever did to deserve the life I have, but to whomever I stole it from, sorry pal, but I'm keeping it.

So long, 2015.  Welcome to history.

Hello 2016.  Let's hope you look as good up close as you do from a distance; I've been fooled before.

Peace to you and yours.  Happy New Year.

Still Writing,

RP
12-28-15      

Comments

  1. LynneDecember 28, 2015 at 6:09 PM

    Hope it's a great year for you and your family!

    ReplyDelete
  2. UnknownDecember 28, 2015 at 10:11 PM

    Good list. This new year I want to learn to listen and keep my mouth shut. Can't learn anything new when I'm talking and when someone is talking I want to really listen to what they are saying. This should take me all year to do.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

One of the Best of Us

In the stifling heat my breath comes fast and heavy. What the fuck am I even doing here? What the fuck am I trying to accomplish? I'm sitting on the mat, maybe dying, a forty something dad playacting at being a fighter. This is my mid-life crisis, this is so, so stupid. This has to be the end for me, assuming I can get my heartbeat under control, assuming I don't just peg out here on the mat.  I can't do this anymore. "It's okay man, it's okay, you just need to breathe through it. You're fine, you're okay." The voice of my training partner, gentle and kind. My partner, the maniac that drove me to such a state, that I think I might die, he sits next to me and shows me how to breathe, how to calm my body. He teaches and guides me through it, and in a few minutes I actually am okay, the panic settles down, and maybe this isn't my last class after all. "You're alright?  Okay. Now lets get back to work."  And back to work we go. There
4 comments
Read more

The Dance of the Sand Hill Crane

 It is Saturday morning in Feburary and here in Michigan it is clear and cold.  The sun has risen a while ago but there are still streaks of red in the sky, lighting up the clouds, high and wispy.  I am standing by my car after completing some chore, cleaning something or retrieving something and I am slow breathing, trying to calm my heart. It has been a difficult week. My son has a fight tonight, full contact MMA, his first, and I am full of conflict and anxiety about it. Not because I don't believe he will do well, because I know he is as prepared as anyone can be for such a thing, but because I am a father and I feel like I should be protecting him from the violence of the world. Even though he turns nineteen in a few weeks and is stronger both physically and mentally than I could ever hope to be, he is still my boy, and I am scared for him. My other son is fifteen and this week was embroiled in some stupid conflict at school, a misunderstanding that had led to meetings with th
1 comment
Read more

A Soap Bubble Nothing

I built a table, out of wood.  I made a thing that wasn't there before.  I cut and sanded the wood, I drilled in screws, and now we have a table where we didn't have one before. It is real and solid and you can touch it, you can feel where I cut poorly, see the rough edges where I didn't join the wood correctly, you can lift it, feel its weight.  It is a real thing that I made.  I made a table. This is not a table, this is a nothing, a series of random thoughts that I had in the shower, which is where thoughts come from. What if our souls are soap bubbles, what if we spread ourselves too thin, stretched out and flattened? What happens when it pops, would you even notice, would you even care? What if we are meant for something more? I am already behind schedule this year I've got work to do, I have things to accomplish, friends ask me questions ask for favors and all I say is yes yes yes and- What is this?  What am I hoping to do here writhing I meant to write "writ
5 comments
Read more