Here we are, in the darkest week of the longest year in our lifetimes. Christmas is on its way. Hanukkah has shown her lights. Kwanzaa will brighten the days of the rest of the month. . . and then, we will reach 2021, the year on which we have rested multitudes of hope. I hope 2021 is ready to perform.
Today, though, I write with both sad and hopeful news, which feels right for this moment in time. This will, in all likelihood, be my last blog post. I’ve been writing here for over 12 years, and I am grateful to each and every one of you who has read my words in this space. But now, it’s time for me to step more fully into the new trajectory of my words.
When I first began blogging, I wrote every day, seven days a week, for years, and that work, that commitment taught me discipline and to meet reader expectations. When life and parenting and farming took more of my time, I pared back. Then, I pared back more. And now, it’s time to let this space hold what it holds and move to other things.
Sometimes, the way we write – be it the when or where or the what – needs to shift, and such is the case for me. I’m planning to put out 12 books in 2021, and that means I need to open more space for that work. Plus, I’m just finding a lot of health and joy in writing cozy mysteries these days. . . there’s something settling, hopeful in writing stories where people have their people in lives they love (even when the murder rate is astronomical).
So as this year ends, I hope you are finding the way with words that fulfills you, that fits this moment in your life, and that gives you, first and foremost, joy and hope.