Oh, I strove this year but, as someone close to me observed last night, “you’ve mastered the art of writing a book impossibly slowly.” The Writing Big Year, which was meant to provide structure and underpin a proper “plan,” sped me up but not enough. Bleak moments abounded.
But the night lifts and a sweet day unfurls, and the name of that day is 2018. This time next year I’ll toast success!