And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.
Ah, a new year. 2026. As we closed out 2025 last night, I made one wish: that this year be a year that I’m not glad to see end.
The last two years have been rough. We had 16 good days at the beginning of 2024, with no idea of what was ahead. January 17, 2024, changed everything. Though I have to say, I still look into a new year with hope. That’s a good thing.
So way back on September 26, still in 2025, I finished my next novel, Unique In All The World. I submitted it to my publisher, and it was accepted. I signed the contract the day before Christmas Eve. This means I have a poetry collection, The Birth Of A Widow, due for release in early 2026 (I don’t have a date yet) and a novel that will be released on February 18, 2027.
That’s a lot to be happy about. And I am.
But from September 26th on, I didn’t write a thing, other than this blog. It wasn’t that I had writer’s block – I don’t even believe in writer’s block. And I had plenty of ideas. But I would sit down at my computer, place my fingers on the keys, maybe type one sentence…and then I just felt tired. I closed the lid of my laptop and went to take a nap.
There have been a lot of naps between September 26th and now.
Throughout my life, I’ve only stopped writing twice…and they’ve both occurred in the last couple years. Michael died on June 19th, 2024, and I didn’t write for 3 months. Then, visiting the Oregon coast in the special little house with the ocean as the backyard, I sat down in the writer’s nook (the owners of the house keep my books on a shelf in that nook), stared at the blank screen, and began to write. Several hours later, I looked up, had a sip of cold coffee, and realized I’d written 120 pages.
That was the start of Unique In All The World, the novel due out in February of 2027.
The words never stopped. They just remained quietly in my head until I was ready and able to come out again.
And now…another three-month stoppage.
Michael’s horrific accident, 5-month attempt at recovery, and subsequent death were all…well, I already used horrific, but that is the word for it. Both my daughter Olivia and I found ourselves stunned that the second Christmas without him, and now moving toward the 2nd anniversary (for lack of a better word) of his accident, is harder than the first. Someone said the words “traumatic grief” to me, which surprised me too. I went to see a therapist who specializes in traumatic grief, someone who also lost her partner in a similar way that I lost Michael. She informed me that the first year is filled with numbness. In the second year…the numbness wears off.
Boy, does that ever make sense. And is it ever a kick in the teeth.
And so, there were two sets of times when the core of my life – writing – came to a stop. During year 1, when I was numb. And now, during year 2, as the numbness fades away.
But this week, the second week that I had off from teaching for the holidays, I sat down with my computer on Monday. For me, historically, I begin new writing projects on Mondays. Monday always feels like the beginning to me. I set up my page, and then wrote a title. “When It Hits”. And then I bowed my head.
When I looked up several hours later, I’d written an entire short story. Beginning to end. Not finished, it needed rewriting, but there it was.
Oh, soaked through with happiness. And relief. And a feeling that not everything has changed.
So I rewrote on Tuesday and Wednesday, and I will today too. I already have an idea for the next story, and I’m eager to finish this one so I can get to that one.
Whew.
And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.
