2020 has been a good year.
Well, perhaps that’s an overstatement. 2020 has been a terrible year in so many ways. The pandemic, the lockdown, the fear, the crumbling economy and the horrors of homeschooling. It was a tough year to live through and I’m glad it’s almost over.
And yet… it’s been a good year for me, although there hasn’t been any special turning point, no epiphany to speak of. It’s just that I’ve finally allowed myself to do what I’d been wishing to do these past twenty years – let other people see my work.
To be honest, there has never been a time when I was not writing. But scribbling things in the wee hours and then burying them on your hard disc does not make you feel like a real writer. Nor does it give you confidence. It leaves you alone with brain weasels whispering in your ear that you’re not good enough, that your writing is trash and that no one will ever want to read it.
But in 2020 I decided I’m done with being my own greatest obstacle. 2020 was the year when I admitted to myself that I wanted to write speculative fiction, I wanted to write in English and I wanted to publish my work.
Five short fiction sales and one agent later, I think I’ve made the right decision.
So suck it up, brain weasels!