Okay, so seriously guys. You know all those other years when I complained about how I longed to be creative and missed writing SO MUCH and had yet to discover my purpose in life? And then proceeded to write all but, say, a total of 1859 words the entire year. A third of those words consisting of ‘#gluttony’ or ‘Have a lovely holidays!’ written in repetition on one Robert Sabuda pop-up card after another? How I would talk a big game with co-workers about forming a writing circle, toy around with the notion of NaNoWriMo, vow that this. is. THE. year. to read the entire cannon of David Foster Wallace essays, and continue to add to my ever growing library of books (nay, decorative elements) to my living room shelves?
So about that..