A late December evening and another year draws to a close. Such times make me assess the progress I’ve made – or failed to make – in the year that’s ending.
Two-and-a-half years ago, I began writing a suspense novel. I have made significant progress on this work. I, more than anyone else, think it would be simply wonderful if I were to complete the book by the end of next year.
But we’ll see.
I hope it happens, but I also believe that good books sometimes take their own sweet time in being written. Persistence is necessary, yes, but the work can’t always be rushed.
As a writer, I am a dreamer. But I also am a practical person. I do view writing as a way to make a living. So I have that to consider – and I do consider it.
Certainly I will make my resolutions, and set my goals.
But today, most of all, as the world winds to a sleepy, dreamy, wintry close, I feel deeply grateful for the work itself. Writing suspense is challenging and demanding- at times, infuriatingly frustrating.
But the world of books is magical, and it is a blessed thing to be able to set foot in that world at any time simply by picking up a pen or a laptop and loosing the imagination.
