The old year slipped into the new in a very quiet way, here at our household. I went to bed at 10:30, which is my usual New Year’s Eve routine, but somehow I always seem to awaken just before midnight, no matter how soundly I’m sleeping, with the annoying sense that something momentous is about to occur. Even though it isn’t. Once that ball drops in Times Square, a mere thirty miles from my bedroom, it becomes a night like any other night. So, no ruminations on the last year (which, despite the media’s pronunciation of it being ‘the worse year ever,’ was actually one of my personally best years in recent memory), or hopes about 2017, about which I feel completely neutral—neither fearful or hopeful. It just is. It’s going to happen, no matter what, so nothing to do but charge ahead.
The only news is that my Goodreads giveaway ended at the stroke of midnight last night, and today I have a list of ten lucky people waiting to receive a free copy of Wives of the Saints. Considering how half-ass-edly (how’s that for an adverb?) I put together that campaign—literally constructing it on my daughter’s kitchen table in Nashville while we were on the road—the results were fairly satisfying. There were 510 entries, resulting in 210 ‘to-reads’ and two full and very positive reviews. To those awaiting my book: I expect nothing from you in return, I won’t spam you with email or entreaties to “tell your friends”, or beg for stars. In fact, I don’t want you to review my book, just read and enjoy it for the random holiday gift that it is.
And to everyone else, forget the hoping and wishful thinking and resolutions, and just get on with it. A “year” is only an intangible measure of life lived, not a change agent. Just do it.