This post is about writing in 2017. I want to make that clear, because writing aside, 2017 was a pretty great year for me. The family prospered, we’re happy, well taken care of, and all in all in a good place right now.

But for writing, 2017 sucked in many, many ways.

I had high hopes for the year. In 2016, I played with self publishing a novel, and for what I put into it, had some pretty good returns. Such is hubris. In 2017, I put a book out that I thought was good; it was copyedited, it was cleaned, it was a story I enjoyed telling. I lined up advertising, promoted the book, etc.

It flopped, and it was pretty disheartening. Since that release, it’s been a real struggle to be motivated. We all know the stories of so-and-so who was met with repeated failures before they succeeded. It takes perseverance to keep going, and in 2017 I learned that I might not have it. Or maybe I do? We’re three days into 2018, and I do have a project I’m working on. No point in saying more than that at this point, but I haven’t given up the ghost just yet.

On the short story front, not much to be said. A story I sold in 2016 saw print this year, but otherwise it’s been a string of rejections. This doesn’t surprise me too much – the short stories I was sending out were, for the most part, written years before. Since I started focussing on longer length fiction, I haven’t written much in the way of short stories. Even so, I currently have a story out there waiting on feedback. It’s a big market that takes a while to reject, so I’m not hopeful.

2017: not a great year of writing. Here’s looking to 2018 and the promise of getting some words down.