The elapsed year was not one where any new material was written, except if you count sweeping changes or rewrites to a prior project.
What really changed was my move away from transcribing and editing at home as a primary source of income. It had been a feeble and inconsistent living all along, not really a living at all. It fostered inconsistent eating and sleeping patterns. It encouraged social isolation. I had basically been living on ballooning credit while in the city with roommates for what little I actually brought in, and with interest and fees factored in, things scarcely improved once I was back with my parents; it was still quite like paying Toronto rent, but without any of the perks of living in the city. Sadly, that part has only stabilized rather than improved.
But something had happened to me in the meantime where I couldn’t stand transcribing much anymore, and didn’t want much volume of editing. I sure didn’t want to take seasons of employment at Lush in order to make an income that was actually helpful, only to have work obligations the moment I got home. When would there be definite planned time just for me, aside from sleeping? 2018 was when I said goodbye to work that had begun to frustrate and infuriate me, in return picking up more work that paid well enough even if I had a tough time physically keeping up with it.
In 2018, nothing hugely positive happened with my love life, and that’s okay. Love can be really expensive, and rather than keep with previous efforts to date for the learning experience, I found that none of those experiences had been teaching me anything useful or positive. If I got any better at caring for the people who are already in my life, I prefer that. These are experiences of people genuinely wanting to spend time with each other. What could be better?
My heart broke really hard once in 2018, but by the end of the year, I seemed to have regained the ability to have a normal conversation between one human and another with this person. I’ll take it. I enjoyed being their friend before and it would be great if that remained true, and as usual I’m the biggest obstacle to that. I’m learning to handle such things better.
In the middle of the year, the clouds parted and a shaft of golden light enveloped a literary convention. For three days, I got to live a wonderful fantasy where my top billing in life was as a writer, and people I didn’t even know could express genuine interest in things I have created. Some of them would even pay money for copies of what I had done; astounding! I had a vaguely successful time at another event later in the year, but it is different to vend at a place where what you do is very close to why people show up.
Then it came to be that one of the things I had hyped so much was not how I remembered it, in some respects potentially harmful, and I toiled to fix it. I was embarrassed. It wasn’t the low point of my year by far; the theft of a smart device, the invasion of privacy into my years-old email account, leaning on a strapping device in a facility with countless anxious scenarios running through my head, no connection to social media to reassure me that things hadn’t all blown up while I was away from it, the strong desire to just curl up on a concrete floor and pass out and maybe never wake up. 2018 knew how to hit me where it hurt most. It didn’t kill me, but it took a running jump.
It’s about half way into the first month of 2019, and the brink of another working Monday. There’s still no certain path I’m on, my situation still seems as insecure as ever. That’s how it goes. I’m settled on never going it alone again when I finalize a book, and I might be ready to shop around for publishers or agents so that I won’t have to be the sole advertiser or marketing agency of my next work, either. I look forward to my next adventure.