2020 in Review

2020 has been a rough year.

I’ve been working my day job from home since March. No commute and fewer engagements should equal more time to write. In theory. In reality, 2020 had been my least productive year as a writer, and possibly my most frustrating. I finished the first draft of my longest novel yet and celebrated the first time breaking 100k words. I dragged Defining Lines’ sequel, kicking and screaming to the halfway point. I spent the last two months of this year rewriting Defining Lines in its entirety. Wow, writing all of that out made me feel slightly better. And yet… I feel like a failure. I know I’m not alone in the awful feelings that have plagued 2020. Just about everyone is feeling that pinch of guilt—so many opportunities, so many of them wasted. It’s hard to accept that many of those opportunities—free time, focus—were smoke all along. They weren’t real, but the guilt is.

I almost bettered myself this year. I went through a workout kick, along with half of America, until our AC broke in July and even the thought of kettlebells was unbearable. After that, I just kind of buttered myself with making curry pies. That’s one good mark for 2020: I can make a mean tikka masala from scratch.

I firmly believe that every year is what we make of it and that, with a bit of luck, you can achieve that all that you hope to. I don’t know the cure, except to hope that 2021 is still malleable enough to be shaped by my hopes and efforts for it and myself to be better.