Housekeeping first.
My painting, “Gifts” has been accepted into the Watercolor Society of Oregon Spring Exhibit.
I’m still doing a small painting most days.
My work on the Art on the Edge 2025 Studio Tour is moving toward a significant deadline (artists must apply by Feb. 28, which means my tasks will shift). If you are in the area and have an interest in being on the tour, apply. There are also some guest spots available.
And, due to a couple of members needing a break, I am moving into a bookkeeper position (still unpaid) for the Pacific Artists’ Co-Op Gallery. We need a couple more artists, if you are interested (not for the bookkeeping part, just regular membership).
The Year is Over
525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear.
525,600 minutes – how do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee.
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.
In 525,600 minutes – how do you measure a year in the life?
How about love? How about love? How
about love? Measure in love.
Seasons of love.~ From the musical, Rent
The first time I heard Seasons of Love (also known as 525,600 Minutes), I thought it was a great song. For the next 100 or so times, I thought it was a good song. At time 1000, I was over it. It is a good song, but it has an undeniable sentimental slant that gets old after a while.
While I have posted a variety of yearly recaps and other summaries, the end of my Sabbatical Year is a moment where I must pause and reflect. Maybe even sentimentally. Forgive any lapses into emotion.
In early February 2024, I knew something had to change in my life. I decided to take a year off to figure out what that was. I spent some time detoxing from my workplace and some more time dealing with house matters. I joined an exercise class and worked on socializing with neighbors. I did a lot of painting, reading, yard work, and other enjoyable things. For the first three months (or so) I posted my daily “work” on Facebook, but stopped when I realized this was just a self-justification for taking this time for myself. By April I had joined the Pacific Artist Co-Op Gallery and was involved with the training and duties that came along with having a dedicated place to show my work. I took some art classes, earned Signature status in NWWS, and followed Key to his NW3 Title.
At around six months an idea began to glimmer. All my life, I have loved books. When I was in high school, I wrote three romance novels (redefining bad romance…). I went to college with an idea of majoring in creative writing. And by the time I graduated, most of the joy I felt in writing had been removed. The next twenty years were spent making a living. A few pieces of writing snuck in. In 2014 I started this blog, mostly as a way to showcase my art. In November 2017, I participated in the NaNoWriMo challenge and finished a rough draft. Over the next eight years I added two more manuscripts and three more outlines to that first effort. And so, by November 2024, I was ready to announce to the world: I AM A WRITER.
As some of you may know, being a writer does not mean being a published author. And there is this pesky “making a living” piece of my life that must be solved. For the last few months, I have been working on turning my writing into a marketable product (joining a couple of organizations, attending talks on writing, finding a critique group). And, to my shock, this week something came of it. A small publisher has expressed interest in my series of “cozy” mysteries.
There’s a catch. Apparently, in the last thirty years, publishing has changed. Authors no longer turn in their manuscript into a publisher who takes care of the rest. Publishers no longer market books (unless you are a best seller). Marketing is on the author, even when a book is not self-published. As such, I need to turn in a marketing plan before my manuscript goes to the contract phase.
This has caused a lot of anxiety. I have reached out to a couple of organizations and discovered that, yes, this is pretty standard now. I’ve also reached out to an agent to see if that might offer some support around this issue. But, in essence, it seems like I am at a decision point. I need to decide if I want to be a published writer who makes a living, or if I want to be a writer who chases a dream.
It seems like fate (a concept I am skeptical of) that this is happening exactly one year after beginning my sabbatical, at the time when I need to find my next path. When I finish this blog, my next job is to start putting a marketing plan together.
What else can I stuff into this post…
Procrast-i-writing button pressed.