To write stories that are good.
To write stories that are fun.
To write stories that you love.
There’s something almost magical about midnight, the witching hour. Where one day bleeds into the next. Where the sky almost seems to be holding its breath, waiting for the next day to begin.
Writers hold their breath at the start of each year, looking back on their accomplishments made during the last one. If they got out of bed and maintained a schedule. If they were brave enough to come up with story ideas and flesh out characters that felt real, characters that hold your parts of your soul, that you breathed life into.
There’s something hopeful about the next year. A year that will be kind. A year that will be better. A year where dreams happen.
At least that’s my wish.
It’s what I’m hoping for.