Over the holidays my mother handed me a stack of papers to bring back to PA with me—“It’s your permanent record; thought you might want it.”
Um, yes! That thing that teachers and books and movies constantly cite as the paper trail* that will make or ruin your whole future—I was dying to get a look at it.
It turns out it’s mostly vaccine records and report cards and the various results of standardized tests. Other people’s may be wicked exciting, but mine was really disappointingly boring… which is surprising, because I was/am quite the hijinks-magnet.
EXCEPT for one little paragraph in the results of some IQ testing I had when I was in second grade…
Many of you may have heard me talk about my writing process: non-linear, no outlines, and I write the dialogue first (followed by the kissing scenes). Apparently this isn’t a new habit:
Today, the first day of 2013**, seemed like the perfect time to reflect on things that change and things that don’t.
So, while my writing technique hasn’t varied much since I was eight, a whole lot changed this past year. My first book hit bookshelves. I still get a rush each time I see it there. I still squeak out “Really?” in response to anyone commenting, “So, I read Send Me a Sign.” Maybe I should work on my poker face, because I had a high schooler respond, “Yes… Was I not supposed to?”
I have a hard time wrapping my head around dreams-coming-true.****
Last year brought me so many nights of lying awake because I’m too excited to sleep. Or too impatient to sleep. Or too nervous to sleep. Summary: there hasn’t been much sleep—(I’m hoping 2013 is the year of the pillow). But 2012 brought me many new friends: writers, readers, bloggers. And I’m grateful for each of them.
I’m not sure about 2013*****. I don’t have a book coming out this year; my next novel is slated for release in March, 2014. So there’s definitely some fear that all those “Really?” readers of Send Me a Sign will forget about me. There’s also a sense of restless that’s already creeping in—what is my goal for the year? What am I working toward?
My natural tendency is going to be impatience for 2014—and since I’m not okay with rushing through a year of my life to get to Bright Before Sunrise—I’ve decided my resolution will need to be slowing down, focusing on THIS moment, enjoying the now, and letting what’s-next? come at it’s own pace.
And, of course, writing more books: dialogue first.
Happy Twenty-Thirteen, everyone!
*Yeah, they’re probably not on paper anymore, huh?
** Totally typed 2012 there… the habit usually fades out around May
***Yup, did it again.
**** I still go tiptoe in The Schmidtlets’ room sometimes at night and whisper, “Do you know I get to keep you?” Um, but in a totally non-creepy, momma-adoration way.
***** Nailed it first-try that time!
I was lucky enough to spend the moment 2011 gave way to 2012 at a wedding surrounded by friends and in formal wear. I’d almost, almost made it to 12 o’clock in my heels.
But when the countdown hit one and people cheered and toasted and kissed, the moment felt extra, extra exciting. And not just because of St.Matt’s midnight kiss.
SEND ME A SIGN comes out in October 2012. So, this means it’s FINALLY my publication year. How could that not add an extra sizzle to the ball-drop countdown?
Yesterday, when The Schmidtlets woke us up after not nearly enough sleep—5 a.m., really? Couldn’t they tell we only got to bed at 2?—I had another moment of IT’S MY YEAR.
|In which The Wild Imp says: Who needs sleep? And check out my cute Apocalypsie shirt? Auntie Em gave it to me.|
I know that realistically, 1/1/2012 is only ONE day nearer to October than 12/31/2011, but it feels so much closer. And I’ve always valued feelings more than facts.**
So, Happy Twenty-Twelve!
And while you’re waiting for October, do what I plan to do — keep yourself distracted by reading fabulous books by all the other Apocalypsies.
|In which The Pip Squeak says: Go read Apocalypsie books RIGHT NOW!|
What a fabulous year it’s going to be!
|In which The Schmidtlets demonstrate how 2012 has shoved 2011 out of the way and The Wild Imp goes splat.|
*This is what we’ve agreed to call it, right? Not Two Thousand and Twelve?
**Much to the dismay of my sainted engineer.