The title is a bit misleading, as it only refers to my writing. A lot happened this year. My oldest graduated high school. We moved for the first time in ten years (after moving 9 times in the preceding 11 years). I got a full time day-job. I even fulfilled three editing contracts.
I did not, however, sell a single word of my own. (I saw a short published by Metastellar, which was amazing, but they had purchased it in 2024.)
I finished the first draft of my fifth novel. But I only drafted two short stories. And my submission numbers fell dramatically.
Life was full. Over-full. It didn’t leave a whole lot of brain space for my literary endeavors. That’s okay.
I couldn’t be more proud of my child. They worked so incredibly hard and achieved a truly ambitious personal goal regarding their grades, and they have not only made it through the first semester college, but they’ve flourished. It wasn’t all sunshine and roses, there were moments of significant anxiety for them, but they made it through with much to be proud of and more confidence with which to continue.
This move has been the best thing for our family. My husband has recovered two hours of his day by cutting an hour commute down to ten minutes. The energy he now has for his family has been a real blessing for us all. And I love this house in a way that feeds my soul. It isn’t a safe, neutral space that is home because it holds my family. I am comfortable here. Not to mention that we now attend an affirming church where it genuinely does not matter whether I come out or not. I’m not withholding information for any reason if it just hasn’t come up, and the way that matters is immeasurable and indescribable.
I have never had full-time employment before. I worked a part-time job while attending grad-school, which adds up to full-time occupation, but it isn’t all employment. I’ve been a stay at home mom, which is 24/7 responsibility, but it isn’t employment. I now have a full-time job in administrative services. I’m a secretary or a clerk or an administrative assistant, whatever you want to call it, and it’s work I’m good at, work I can keep up with my health conditions, and work I actually enjoy. It’s not teaching, which I still sorely miss, but even if I could find classroom employment again, I know I’d never be able to handle it full-time.
Do I feel any shame or inferiority for my work history/ability? No. Absolutely not. BUT, there is a certain amount of glee, of freedom, and even validation, in attaining my new position. All my misplaced guilt over the cost of my health conditions: gone. I have my own benefits now. All my pernicious anxiety over the dependence on my husband: gone. I have my own income. If something tragic were to happen, I wouldn’t be forced to move my children in with my mother. And, not insignificantly, I have a fully external schedule to adhere to that takes me out of the house five days out of seven. (I rarely changed out of pajamas to take the kids to school.)
All in all, it’s been a phenomenal year. But it’s been exhausting. We put a house on the market, packed, moved, and unpacked, and I somehow managed not to collapse with exhaustion before it was accomplished. (The only unpacked boxes that remain, the only unsettled part of the new domicile, is the gallery wall in the hallway, and I have reasonable hopes to have that done before the end of the year.) I got addresses changed, school registered for, financial concerns updated, all without a single panic attack.
So do I wish I had written more in 2025? Sure. But I have no regrets. Maybe, getting us all settled in in such a timely manner, 2026 can be a year for the author-me. I certainly have intentions, dare I say goals, even.
And maybe, just maybe, I won’t go another full year before posting here again…
