Fuck You, 2011

This wasn’t a good year for me.

Work turned into something that’s probably unconstitutional.

I didn’t write a lot.

I didn’t read nearly as much as I usually do.

My grandfather passed away.

I topped it off working until shortly after midnight yesterday/this morning.

For these emotional blights on my year, fuck you, 2011.

I did, however, write 40 poems in April for National Poetry Month, which ended up in two chapbooks, the longer Oneiric Orienteering and the brief City of Rain.

I did finally finish a very long running series of stories (although I have yet to do much about putting them all together in one collection).

My early morning work days gave me some lovely photographs.

Two of my poems were accepted for the January issue of  The Blotter, which should be up soon.

I think the bad outweighs the good, simply because the bad’s been difficult. but maybe I needed the bad more than I needed the good.  Accomplishment is easy.  Slogging through hardship of any variety is not, hence the term.  It’s not easyship, after all.

We can all keep the cliches to ourselves.

So a heartfelt FUCK YOU to 2011.  Here’s to finding out if I can build on what I’ve come through the year with.


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