So, 2020. The year of boosted reflexes and black trenchcoats and mirror shades. In the early 90s, 2020 was the year of our own Dark Future – in our heads, we’d be street samurai, and we’d kick some serious booty.
Guess I hadn’t twigged that I’d be in my fifties (seriously, how the hell did that happen?), juggling a teenager and a writing schedule and a job that’s taken me to some weird and wonderful places. And I certainly hadn’t realised that I’d have given my black leather longcoat to my son.
But, as we cross into the future, 2019 has been a good year. Work has been amazing – securing the Dark Crystal puppets in the store windows was a personal highlight, plus meeting a wonderful assortment of celebrities, including James Murray, David Harbour, and Kevin Smith. Isaac got meet Dan Nerd Cubed and Ashens, and we were both bowled over by the presence of the wonderful Tom Baker.
I’ve made a point of finding time to read, taking a journey through some of my teen favourites and find that some of them really held up to the intervening years – reading them as an adult opened out whole new depths and facets that I’d never seen before – and some of them, sadly, didn’t. But hey, I guess that’s all a part of bring fifty and not fifteen.
I set myself the target of walking 5000km, and am coming in at just under the intended total. I’ve been veggie all year, and developed a taste for (who am I and what did I do with me?) green tea. I’ve cut out the booze almost entirely, and likewise cut right back on white flour carbs – bread and pasta.
I’ve fulfilled a bucket list ambition and gone to see the Bard at the Globe, plus done a round of conventions and exhibitions and presentations – including delivering my first actual proper talk at Edge-Lit, which was a tough call, but successful.
Honestly, isn’t getting old wonderful.
Seriously, though, the worst – and the best – thing about this year has been my age. No, really. I’ve been batting the menopausal brain-fog, and and off, for the last three (?) years – parts of Artifice took me months to get right because I just couldn’t think clearly, and some of my Augusta content has been the same. When I have so little writing time anyway, it’s incredibly frustrating when I do get a moment, and my head is full of porridge.
But – fabjous day! – it seems to finally be clearing. Not sure if it’s the diet, or the tumeric supplements, or I’ve just come out the other side, but I’m finally feeling like myself again, and I’d honestly forgotten what it was like. I wrote two 5k stories in three weeks flat and than sat back blinking, wondering where the hell all that wordcount had come from. I’m still slightly reluctant to trust my own clarity – like I’ll wake up one morning and it will all have gone again – but hey, if my head stays clear for 2020, I have LOTS that I want to do.
With or without boosted reflexes!