Another Year in the Bag

It’s hard to believe another year has zoomed by. Always seems I just get used to recording the new year, and then, whoosh!, time has sped past me while I have had my nose in flowers, my thoughts it stories, and my hands either in dirt or paint.

But, here we go. It’s December. just 18 days until January 1, 2025.

From my brain to the keyboard

My output of new short stories was a bit slower than last year. That’s okay. I’ve never been one of those writers who can scope out markets and write specifically for that. Probably why I haven’t had a brisk financial career in the arts. It’s the thought of churning out story after story saying the same old thing but in a different colour has never appealed to me. I know: sound terribly precious, eh what? But that’s me.

Mostly I’ve been concentrating on writing short stories these past few years. I think that’s for several reasons. First it was COVID and being thrown into palliative elder care, a mother-in-law with dementia and some pretty crazy times around that which have left me with a bit of shell-shock, and so creeping insecurity and some new neuroses which I’ve tackled head-on and refused to give in. Like agoraphobia. Say what?! Me?! Yup. So, screwing up courage, armed with a hat to prevent my head falling of (I shit you not), and a cane for balance, I worked on that over the summer. Of course, joining Gary on our new sailboat Wight Spirit kind of forced the need to address all that silliness.

The second reason I’ve been concentrating on short stories is that it has come to seem such a lot of work to write a novel no one will read. My novel sales these past few years have been almost zero, as in under 10 copies per year, maybe even five. Whereas short stories can be written in a few days, perhaps a few weeks depending on depth of research and time of year, and the likelihood of selling said story is far greater, and at least some people actually read that story. That helps with the writing in the closet syndrome, in that I know there’s someone on the other side of the door picking up those pages and having a silent communication with me.

And the third reason short stories have taken my storytelling creativity is because of an article in Publisher’s Weekly which stated there had been over 2 million books published in 2023, of which only 300k were by traditional publishers. That means all the rest are from indie publishers and authors, with the overwhelming majority of sales in the erotica and romantacy genres. I detest both genres. I will never write in those genres. And so, once again, what I have to say appeals to, oh gee, no one as evidenced by my lack of sales. So, again, short stories seem the sensible artistic form for my need to express thoughts through story.

Short story sales this year

I’m pleased to have the following stories find homes this year:

“A Fine May Evening”, Polar Borealis, Issue 28, January 2024

“A Puppet to His Thoughts”, Hauntings and Hoarfrost, ed. Rhonda Parish, Tyche Books, releasing January 2025

“A Slippery Situation”, The Bad Day Book Volume 2, releasing January 2025

“By Any Other Name”, Once Upon a Future Time, ed. Logan Uber, August 1, 2024

“Cornish Pasties on Wednesday”, Journ-E: The Journal of Imaginative Literature, Vol 3, No. 1, ed. Frank Coffman, March 2024

“Moon Dust”, Journ-E: The Journal of Imaginative Literature, Vol 3, No. 1, ed. Frank Coffman, March 2024

I also sold “Penny Dreadful” to On Spec Magazine, publication date to be announced

Overall, I take that sales record to be quite good, because it means those editors, and those subsequent readers, will have transported for a few moments in a world I shared with them. That’s a very fascinating and rewarding thought to me.

Painting

I completed a few watercolour paintings this year, the most recent being Eugenia Falls, pictured above.

In the new year I plan to delve back into oils, which is where I started at the age of 14 under the tutelage of Dorothy Milne Eplett.

I think watercolours will always be my preferred medium, because the extreme planning and technicality of the medium fascinates me, forces me to slow down and really think about the image I’m trying to create. Mind you, the reason I’m looking forward to oils again is for the exact same reasons, as I plan to employ more of an old masters sensibility to the work, rather than impressionistic or impasto sensibilities.

Which brings me to my third love

And that’s gardening. I never really imagined being a gardener, enjoying the feel of my fingers in dirt, of nurturing something from cutting or seed to healthy botanical organism. But it does give me such remarkable pleasure, whether I’m sewing seeds for the vegetable garden and the myriad flower pots every year, or caring for the houseplants and wee bonsai I’ve coaxed into twisted beauty. And so, come next month, I’ll be ordering seeds, revamping my method of seed trays to something more environmentally sustainable, and little by little all the plant stands will fill with hope. It often feels like Demeter awakening the Earth.

What has become astonishing and apparent to me is that growing things is akin to writing or painting, or I suppose any form of creation and all its aspects.

But for now…

…I wish you a contented holiday season, filled with laughter, health, and optimism.