January at its Januariest

I don't enjoy this month, no matter how hard I try, and I suppose I'm not trying very hard this year. People die in January, like Huell Howser. We've just passed the 5th anniversary of my sweet mother's death, so I can let that go for another year. And the weather is getting warmer, so eventually I should start feeling better, but so far no go. Mostly I keep thinking about how we've had no rain, so there won't be any wildflowers again this year, and more tortoises will die.

On a more positive note, the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest (aka ABNA) begins in January, and that's always fun. This year I didn't really have anything to enter, but then I remembered the mystery novel I wrote a few years ago, that I never finished. I dug it out, got back to work on it, managed to tie up enough of the loose ends that it sort of made sense, and entered it.

Guess what? I'm NOT going to win the contest. However, Amazon accepts the first ten thousand novels entered, and I'm sure mine isn't the only one that shouldn't have been. Anyway, the first round is based on your pitch for the novel and it's a crapshoot -- everyone admits it's a crapshoot -- bad pitches make it through, good pitches get rejected. I'll report back in a month to let you know how mine did.

But here's the January-ish part. ABNA has discussion boards where the writers who have entered the contest hang out while waiting for the results of the next round. And for the last couple of years two men in particular have made those boards enjoyable. Sooooooo hilariously funny. Anyway, first thing I read on the boards this year is that one of the two men is in the hospital, seriously ill. Major bummer. Then, a few days later here comes the news that the other funny guy is DEAD -- last summer, of a very quick-moving cancer. Jesus H. Christ (sorry Ridgecrest). I hate it when cyberspace acquaintances die. It's as if a cartoon character -- or I suppose I should say a character in a novel -- suddenly comes to life -- and then dies. I am feeling really sad about this.

I suppose the real reason I'm sad about this death is that the funny guy was an unpublished novelist, about my age. Just one more reminder, as if I needed one (NOT), that life is short and most of our efforts are for naught.

Which means, of course, that we should all stick with it and do what we do, because we have no idea when it's going to end, nor do we know which (if any) of our efforts will bear fruit. And in my case, there are two little four-year-old efforts who need attention, regardless of whether I get around to anything else. That's cheering, actually.

I promise, I'll get with it soon. Just as soon as January is over. In the meantime, I'm going to bed with a book.