It just snowed here. Yes, in Mesa, at midday. Of course it didn't stick (it is Mesa, after all), but the wind is bitter cold and the sky is overcast. So I'm sitting in my room with a hot cup of peppermint tea and a blanket. As a bonus, the heater just came on.
I think this coming year I'd like to keep a running word-count. I can't really do an accurate one for 2010. I wrote two complete novels (Deathmark was ~90K words, and A Tale of Real Irish Tea ended up being ~80K, as I recall), but I also completed my 2009 NaNo (that needed ~10-12K more, I think), and I got ~27K into another project that I haven't touched in months, plus two more that are maybe ~3K each. I should have kept track, a writing log or something. My writing time is just not very structured, though, so November is the only time I'm really disciplined enough to do something like that.
Regardless of the unknown word count, 2010 has been a pretty good writing year for me, I think. (I will allow that my narcissism could be clouding that judgment, of course.) I'd like 2011 to be even better, but I kind of feel like my brain has been sapped of all its good ideas and it's all downhill from here. Not the greatest feeling in the world.
Oh well. It's not like I'm going to quit any time soon. What else would I do with myself if I did?
