The Lost Year

Some people have been calling 2020 the lost year. 

I've begun calling it the Year of Lost Plans.

2020 has been a year of “What’s next?” A year of “How do we cope?” A year of “How do we take care of each other?” A year of “What’s the current literal emergency, and how can I help?” And a year of “Is this truly an emergency, or does it just feel that way?”

2020 is a year of food shortages, lost jobs, threatened homes, further precarity, and social uprisings.

2020 is a year of ever shifting landscapes, a year of waiting, of missed appointments, a year of dread, a year of change.

2020 is also an open space, ripe for questioning. Some things feel so clear, and other things?

There is simply no way to know.

Case in point: along with dealing with a pandemic, my ongoing yet stable chronic illness, raging forest fires, and social uprisings against police brutality and tyranny, I had plans.

One of those plans was relaunching several online courses. Another was writing my first epic fantasy trilogy. I wrote and published book one. I wrote book two. Mostly.

And then, the TBI* I sustained from a bicycle crash in late July returned with a vengeance. So yeah, I finished The Steel Clan Saga Book 2. I sent it off to my first reader, who found some plot threading problems. Problems likely directly attributable to the TBI. I delayed with my editor. I thought, “I'll feel better in a few days. I'll get my brain back. I'll be able to thread these plot lines in ways that make more sense.”

But day followed day, and I only felt worse. 

I canceled with my editor, telling her I wasn’t sure when I would get her the manuscript.

Epic fantasy is just simply too complicated for my brain right now.

So what am I doing? Along with my other work—and going for walks, and resting a lot—I'm still writing every day. At least a little bit. But that thing I’m writing? It’s something fun. I'm writing my first paranormal cozy mystery. A lighthearted, single viewpoint character voice. No multiple points of view and interlocking plot threads.

As it forms, the story wraps around me like a warm blanket. It's just what I need. 

And that, I realized, is a reflection of this whole year: Plans are run aground by some trauma or another, and the need for comfort arises.

I'm allowing that comfort to surround me. I'm sinking into it.

So my new plan is to do even more of the things that help me, to seek them out. And to write cozy mysteries for as long as I enjoy them. 

I'll get back to epic fantasy when I can.**

We don't know what 2021 will bring, any of us.

And I'm learning to be OK with that.

That's part of resilience. That's part of the long haul.

I hope you're learning to roll with the punches, or ride the waves. I'm hoping you're doing what you can, when you can, where you can.

And I hope—just as you’re finding ways to stay afloat, and ways to help—that you're finding some comfort to wrap around yourself like a soft blanket.

We all need a bit more comfort these days.

*Traumatic Brain Injury, aka “concussion.” Mine was mild, but the effects? My physician’s assistant says they’ll likely last another year (No advice, please. I’ve got my treatment covered).

**Fans of certain epic fantasy authors? I vow to not take more than a decade to finish the trilogy. 

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