For Hogmanay, I wore a full dalmatian suit, made a fire in the woods, and howled at the cockerels and the moon. The trees seemed pretty benevolent to me. Leaning over us and chuckling great belly laughs. Muttering about mycelium.
Whenever we wandered from our clearing (I did not do this much; I was chief keeper of the flames) the fire beckoned us back with a spill of rubies and amber, with coiled fairy lights, with a glow and a grin.
It was the right way to end a year, for sure.
This year has been mighty pleasurable. In January I moved to London, pretending it was because of a job interview, realising it was about a boy. I filled his bedroom with polaroids and red silk shoes and naked photographs of myself. I got a desk. I wrote stories and poems and filled the windowsills with flowerpots to look at. We kept going on holiday and all the flowers kept dying. It was worth it: the holidays were delightful.
I got acceptances from dancing girl press, wigleaf, Bartleby Snopes, the delinquent, Bound Off, Subtle Fiction, Metazen, Wilderness House Literary Review, Gutter, and Foundling Review and I got commissioned to write things by the BBC and Conveyor Arts magazine and I got personal rejections with compliments from some places I yearn for, including Glimmer Train. I think the fact I am excited about rejections makes me a better writer than this time last year.
I'm reminding myself of these things now because there was so much time this year spent screaming into the abyss and wondering if what was coming back was an echo or a response. Sometimes, it seems pointless to bother. There are so so so many more rejections than otherwise, and truthfully, I'd rather be making up tales than peddling them. But! It is so very nice when it all works out.
And now resolutions:
* go on more dates with myself and my notebook. Boys are all very nice, but I miss hanging out with myself.
* take a writing retreat holiday to a cheap cottage/room somewhere internet-free and finish my book.
* learn to brew beer and wine.
* take more showers. (I forget that I like running water and stay curled in old warm clothes all day, never quite waking up, dosing myself with coffee.)
* buy more Euthymol toothpaste (let's face it, mint is a rubbish way for a mouth to taste).
* have stories published in The Collagist and PANK.
* do some readings in London and some in Berlin.
* stop skimming over Latin quotations, poetry and lists in books.
* finish more letters and get round to sending them (I have a drawer of half-written letters and unsent postcards, which are now hopelessly out of date in their news).
Happy 2012 anyway, I hope you spent the eve of it delirious and the rest of it delighted.