It was 54 months today…

Actually, two days ago makes 54 months. But still.

*** NEWS *** I just did a podcast with Joanna Penn for The Creative Penn, wherein I was philosophical and pragmatic about this crazy writing business. Authors might find it of interest. Interview starts at about the 18 minute mark. ***

I published my first tome four and a half years ago. Little did I know that writing would become my full time gig. For which I’m enormously grateful to my readership, which seems willing to humor me and consume my books at the rate I produce them.

If it gets much better than that, I don’t know how.

I mean, sure, I can imagine better. Twins. A big boat paid for by a recently deceased uncle. More money than the Vatican. Eternal life. My enemies and detractors crushed beneath my boots as I mock their misfortune. I can dream pretty big.

But this ain’t half bad.

A lot’s changed for me over that four and a half years. I’ve appeared on The NY Times and USA Today lists at least a dozen times. I’ve penned close to 50 novels, a few of which are even readable, depending upon whom you ask. I still enjoy getting up in the morning and getting to work. All except the getting up part. Why lie?

A new year is coming up fast, and it’s sure to be filled with surprises. The business will probably get even tougher. New names will hit big and will spawn a host of imitators. Trads will release hundreds of thousands of books that do zip. Indies will do the same. Nobody will see the next big thing coming until it hits, and then will nod sagely and assure everyone they completely understand why it went parabolic. The world will keep turning, and much ado will be made about what, in retrospect, will turn out to be nothing.

In other words, not much different than usual.

I’m slowing my production to 5 or 6 novels in 2016, taking more time to smell a few roses (code for problem drinking and helping women of loose morals see the error of their ways). Whether I manage to do so is unknown, but it would be a pretty frigging boring trip if we knew the outcome to anything in advance. Except the lottery. That would be totally metal.

So that’s the state of my union as we near egg nog season. I keep pounding the keys, and my joy at turning a phrase or plotting a twist has never been greater.

Which is one of the best rewards I can imagine.

Except, maybe, the twins. Or the lottery.

Or both.