I don’t know is the short answer.
2019 was a year from hell, personally. Hospital visits. A husband diagnosed with heart failure. A death in the family. A car accident where my aforementioned husband almost drove off a mountain (only being mildly hyperbolic.)
If it could go wrong, it went wrong in 2019.
And I remember thinking fuck, 2020 has to be better, right?
I set goals. Intentions. A word for the year. I was so hopeful about 2020.
Or maybe, cautiously optimistic.
And to borrow a quote from George RR Martin…”ah, sweet summer child.” How wrong I was.
2020 hit like a wrecking ball and hasn’t slowed down since.
Initially, I found myself feeling like a failure because every time I set a deadline or goal, I had to move the finish line. It’s been three years in a row of taking longer to write novels that I did in 2017 or 2018.
It feels a lot like failure but it isn’t.
The thing is that finishing any creative project in difficult times takes strength and resilience.
So what if I didn’t cross the line I set for myself within the time frame that I thought I would?
I still finished.
Maybe it takes months longer than expected but finishing a project is success.
And seriously, if you’ve managed to complete any sort of creative project during the trashfire of the last few years?
You should consider it a massive success.