Ends and Beginnings

Originally written on December 24th, 2024

Growing up, my father would write a letter summarizing our family's year and send it to loved ones as part of our holiday greetings card. The original purpose was to share the family's highlights from the year, but it eventually devolved into the funniest stories he could remember from the year, often embellished with the creativity offered by one or two beers. Those who received the letters disregarded the lack of accurate reporting done on my father's end; they looked forward to the chuckles his words elicited. Anyone who did not receive a letter by December 25th would often seek us out, demanding to know where their letter was.

His most recent letter was sent in December, 2019. The following year began with my mother's tragic cancer diagnosis and only worsened with the subsequent pandemic that halted and transformed everyone's lives. The year filled itself with more lowlights than highlights, and even the good memories that wormed their way to the forefront of our minds were tinged with sadness. When the time came to send out cards and letters, my mother's health unexpectedly declined. The inspiration to write and spread joy was buried beneath the doctor's visits and fear of the rapidly approaching unknown. My father did not send a letter that year, or any of the years since.

My father and I have a similar writing style, so it is only natural that I would eventually pick up where he left off. He is the one I blame for my propensity towards tangents, and the one who blessed me with a passion for storytelling. I will not claim to make the reader laugh or pause to question the validity of my statements, nor will I touch on the private details of my family members' lives, but I can give you this: a letter. A testament to the end of 2024 and a hope for the beginning of 2025.

This year, I finished my first draft of my second novel. The first novel was written many years ago, in all the vigor my teenage years provided, and has since sat unpublished in a folder on my family's old computer, which is likely still on Windows XP. It was not edited. My sister, A., was its only reader, and she would send me all her enthusiastic support and theories after each section I emailed her. That story ends with a cliffhanger that will likely never be resolved due to a required second installment (sorry, A.). Shortly after it was written, life happened (University, first job, relationships) and I never picked it up again. I kept telling myself that I would get back to writing, but I never prioritized it.

This year was different. I gave myself the goal of writing a novel and dedicating myself to it. I would see it to the end, no matter what that entailed. I looked into local workshops that would keep me honest and provide me with the resources and support to reach that goal. I stumbled upon the Madison Writers' Studio and applied to participate in their workshop geared towards writing a 300-page novel over the course of twelve months. Each month, we were tasked with submitting our work, reading that of the other participants, and meeting in-person to give and receive feedback. I ended the year with a complete manuscript of 297 pages, or approximately 84,000 words, but to say I left with only a first draft would be doing a disservice to the workshop and its leader, Susanna Daniel (author of Stiltsville and Sea Creatures); I gained an appreciation for storytelling, awoke my slumbering love for writing, and gained a network of trusted peers in the writing community.

My friends and family would tell you the only thing I accomplished this year was writing my novel. Unfortunately, it was all I could ever talk about, and each life update with friends I had not seen in a while eventually circled back to my writing progress. I was insufferable. Regardless of what they might say, I did manage to do things other than writing.

We took a family vacation to the northern shore of Lake Superior. Family trips like these are often homages to nature. We chased waterfalls, dodged ungodly amounts of gnats, and spent a decent amount of time searching for agates on the shorelines. Most importantly, I introduced my family to Chappell Roan. Yes, I pride myself on doing the lord's work.

Later in the summer, my brother got married and I was honored to be a bridesmaid. The look on my brother's face when he turned to see his soon-to-be wife could inspire an entire novel. In the name of brevity, I will turn to the decor, which balanced elegance with bookishness. A full bookshelf served as the seating chart, with a guest's name and seat location attached to the spine of each book. The specially crafted cocktails were inspired by the bride and groom's favorite books, The Great Gatsby and Jack Absolute, respectively.

My sister and I traveled to England in October. Our day trip to Oxford from London was my favorite point in our adventure. When I was not geeking out over the fact that my favorite authors, C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien, had walked those same streets, I was basking in the energy the college population brought to the city of dreaming spires. It was a truly magical place, and one which will likely be the subject of a future post. Being inspired to write is different from writing, even if the trip led to even more time spent typing at my desk.

Hockey season is in full swing. It keeps me busy and often saves my sanity when I encounter a bout of Writer's Block. My team, which doubles as my friend group, is largely comprised of individuals who have traditionally never seen themselves or their identities represented in mainstream media. I wrote my novel to appeal to a broad audience, but they inspired me often throughout this year. With all the love they have shown me, the least I could do was write a story that makes them feel seen, respected, and celebrated. I cannot wait to share it with them in the coming year.

Now, for the future. I cannot speak of what this next year holds, especially in the face of an administration that prides itself on fearmongering and hate, but I can speak of my hopes. On a personal level, I plan to edit my novel and begin querying literary agents. We will see what that process brings. I hope to spend time with family, travel, and let life inspire me. If you made it this far, thank you and congratulations for surviving my rambling. As a token of my gratitude, I wish you a very happy, healthy, and book-filled 2025. May your Hold queues at the library be short and your trips to the local bookstore be bountiful.

Happy Writing,

K.

Jetlagged and standing across from Big Ben and the Palace of Westminster in London, England.