I was solidly distracted throughout 2007. But when I look back I can also see I was pretty tenacious.

In January of 2007 I was just as busy as I am now. But I still found time to goof off and to blindly plead with the world for assistance. (Still waiting for answers, btw…)

February found me in a bout of nostalgia about pages of my old writing. So I smacked myself on the head and kept going. But first I stopped to read a story—note to self: always stop to read a story.

March was a struggle to stay positive. I didn’t open any new doors. I got rejected. I wanted to give up.

In April, I faced the usual post-traumatic stress over past rejections, realized that “giving up” might not be such a horrible thing after all, and slowly, slowly moved forward.

In May, I found a gift I don’t remember leaving for myself, left my day job for another job, even though there’s something I want much more than either.

In June, I tried putting myself out there again, had a moment of excitement, got bad news, and got broken.

In July, I kept going, found inspiration in another writer’s struggle to write her book, fell back twelve paces so I could spend some time feeling sorry for myself, and discovered—to my delight—that I am an imbecile.

In August, I must have been really depressed because I hardly wrote any posts. But I did get a bump of motivation, skirted rock bottom, and had another one of those identity crises where you post photos of dirty walls and think deeply about nothing in particular to no real resolution, you know, the usual.

In September, I was so bogged down with deadlines I decided I would never ever write freelance again. (I have since caved.) I also wished I was 12 again, revised my stories, made BIG PLANS, and then immediately—you guessed it—faltered.

In October, an agent wanted to see my work. I wasn’t sure if I should give it a go again. I did, and then distracted myself with other people’s short stories and a shot at NaNoWriMo. I also celebrated 14 years with my other half, and for that I am truly lucky.

November brought some good news, if tainted by lies and corporate bureaucracy, and this month was all about the words. As in counting them. And I didn’t make it and I guess I don’t deserve new shoes.

In December, I met with that agent. But don’t jump up and down. I’m pretty much where I started. I have big plans, and I want it now more than ever.

Right now, it’s the first day of a new year and it’s raining. I had a soothing walk through the city streets, umbrella overhead, and not once was it stolen from me by the wind. I got lucky. Not even one cab skidded through a puddle splashed my shoes. As I approached my writing spot—where I must work like a maniac today to make some deadlines—I passed by two people bundled up under a construction awning. A shopping cart full of their things was nearby. They were in a deep embrace, kissing like their lives depended on it. I wish them a happy 2008. And to you. And you. And you. And you.

And to myself, too.

My resolution for 2008 is this: Don’t give up, not yet. I’ll keep on trying if you will.