Happy New Year, everyone. If you’re still feeling the after-effects of your New Year’s celebration, you should contact a doctor. And Guinness World Records, because that’s one truly impressive hangover in terms of endurance.
I’m subscribing to the no-New-Year’s-resolution-here school of thought this year, because my New Year’s resolutions never really stuck in that they didn’t exist a lot of years. Honestly, I can’t remember half of them. Okay. More than half of them. I don’t remember most of my resolutions. Moving along. The short version is I’m going to take 2014 and give it a chance to not be 2013, because that guy was a real asshat. I’m going to make sure, one way or another, I have a kickass year in 2014. 2014 knows I’m willing to resort to outrageous, cartoonish physical violence to keep it in line (that calender will never know what hit it).
More writing must happen! My notebook featuring the Joshua’s Nightmares notes keeps reminding me I’ve been a lazy little shit. Motivation would elude me here. Sleepiness would creep up on me there. Did I mention laziness? The point is I’m going to work harder on being a self-motivated, strong writer who actually writes. My wealth of notebooks need the appropriate level of love, and I’ve got enough tea to accompany about a thousand years worth of writing. I wish that were an exaggeration. I’ve got tea knocking the tea off of my cabinets because its being displaced by other tea. And whiskey.
Naturally, I work bright and early tomorrow, but I promise more regular updates, some short stories here and there, and better efforts at getting things published because I need to actually make those efforts if I ever hope to accomplish anything as a writer.
Once again, I wish you all a happy, healthy, and, yes, belated New Year. I only feel a little guilty for it being this late because it’s already crossed the social threshold from “what a thoughtful sentiment” to “well-wishes from someone who clearly spent the start of the year hiding out in some Doomsday-proof bunker”.