A lot can be done in a year. A year is over 520 000 minutes. A year is 365 sunsets, and just as many sunrises. A year is 6 novels, if you’re so inclined, or 3 drafts and few false starts. A year is one slow manuscript, dripping from your veins and bleeding you dry. A year might be eighteen queries and the promise of hope.
The future sometimes scares me, I think it scares a lot of people, but I try hard not to plan with any real gusto because the future also excites me. There are so many things left to do, so many places I’ve yet to see, and so many best friends yet to meet. A year is, most importantly of all, an awfully big adventure and adventures are never what you expect. I like resolutions but I tend not to make them. Maybe I’ll take up painting this year. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll read 300 books before November or maybe halfway through I’ll discover the inherent beauty in the little things and take 300 photos instead. Maybe I’ll get published but in the most unexpected circumstances imaginable. Maybe instead I’ll count snowflakes all year round. All I know is that I’ll try not to waste it, because there’s a lot to be done in a year.
What will you do with 2014? I don’t think I could read 300 separate books in a year without rereading some of them, I am a rereader. I confess!