I became an author this year for 2015. That’s pretty big, isn’t it? I’ve always been a writer, but I’ve never had a true feeling of being an author. I always saw it as more of a dream, or some hazy future that was too good to be true. But being an author with a novel in the works makes it feel so much more real. This year was amazing. I’d been supported like I never had been before. I went back to Jakarta to visit family and felt absolutely embraced: by the culture, by the language, by the people, and the food. 🙃 Now coming back home, I feel surrounded by a different sort of embrace. It’s stories that I’ve come back to. They’re bad stories. They’re penny dreadfuls. They’re cheap thrillers and medieval fantasies. They’re classics and modern literature. They’re everything. They’re nothing. They are stories.
Now it’s time to write even more of them next year. These stories will be even better. 🐯