I last posted almost a month ago and the guilt stings like a paper cut. I know I should post at least once a week – once a fortnight, even – but life gets in the way. My Grandfather’s words come to mind: ‘The path to hell is paved with good intentions.’ I survey the detritis of another year which has gathered itself around my desk and spread beyond, and I think about that grand man who had such sound advice for every situation.
The most significant piece of writing to flow from my fingertips to the screen/page recently has been the Writers’ Ink newsletter, the last for the year. Considering it is merely two sides of one sheet of A4, I should be – and am – ashamed of myself.
2014 has been my greatest year of non achievement. Next year just has to be different. Of course, I have excuses, but they become irrelevant when set against a whole year, the passage of which has happened without so much as a ripple. What a waste! Unlike last year, I haven’t driven to Western Australia and back, nor have I achieved any personal goals.
There was the big 70th birthday, but that’s a bit like being promoted on seniority rather than merit, isn’t it? If you wait long enough it’ll happen. Unlike the next great book, which won’t happen without the input of my sweated brow, bloodshot eyes, fatigued fingertips and kick-started imagination.
So, with the sting of guilt of 2014 and the fearsome determination or desperation (or single-mindedness) of the year to come, I give fair warning: 2015 will be different, so look out!