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New Year. New me. Maybe?

2020 was a rough year for everyone. We all had to adjust, learn to live through a world wide pandemic. So I know I wasn’t the only one who suffered. I wrote 2020 off. Sat on my couch, watched trashy TV with my hubby, played some video games, and just rolled with it. I didn’t write or create or even try to advertise or promote.

The New Year rolled around and I went into 2021 optimistic. Wrote out my yearly goals. Positive I would find my writing mojo, my voice again. I would write all the books. I would create and thrive and meet all my goals I had set at the start of the year.

Let’s just say that 2021 wasn’t any better than 2020.

I didn’t meet any of my goals. I didn’t find my writing voice. I struggled more in 2021 than in 2020. 

That left me feeling miserable, like I was a failure.

Those feelings made everything worse. My brain couldn’t form words, couldn’t focus on my stories, my characters. I literally could not do one of the main things that brings me joy. Instead, I felt even more depressed. 2021 ended and I hadn’t really accomplished anything.

Now it’s 2022.

It should be a New Year, New Me, right? 

I should be pushing to be more than I was in 2020 and 2021.

But that’s not who I want to be. I want to be the old me from before 2020, before the world went to shit around me.

I want to write two novels at once. I want to enter contests again. I want to fall in love with my characters again. I want to create worlds again. I want almost every waking moment in my life to center around my passion. My job. 

I want to be a writer again.

To make sure that my writing is a priority and not just an afterthought.

So instead of New Year, New Me, I want to focus on New Year, old me.

Cover of Evil's Deadly Divide

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