The Year in Pictures

Last year, I chose the word "Go" as my word for 2016. It proved far more fitting than I imagined it would:

I went to the eye doctor and got my first prescription for bifocals.

I went to a local animal rescue and found Duncan.

I went to California, where I put my toes in the ocean, spent Passover with family and friends, and finally met face-to-face co-workers I've known online for years.

I went to the local bike trail and walked 4 miles to the next town and back.

I went to the UK and explored northern Wales, largely on foot.

I went on writing retreat weekends at local hotels and finished two drafts of my novel.

Photo by Hailshadow/iStock / Getty Images

And one thing that fell in my lap without my going anywhere: my biggest freelance client offered me a full-time job (which I accepted), giving me some much needed financial stability.

2016 certainly had its challenges, but I have to say that personally, it was a very good year.

Happy Holidays!

Duncan in his holiday best

Wishing everyone the best of holidays, whichever holiday you might celebrate! 

---Ilene and Duncan

Winter Is Here

We got our first snow of the season today. A decent amount, too. I wondered how Duncan would react. At about eight years old, Duncan had certainly experienced winter and snow before. Heck, he was found wandering a frozen field in January. But this is first winter with me and I wasn't sure what to expect.

I took him outside. There was a respectable few inches of snow on the ground. Flakes were still coming down steadily. Duncan stood on the porch for a moment and sniffed the air. He sniffed some of the snow on the porch. Then he ate it. He ate the snow. I'm not sure what that means, but I think it's safe to say he's not afraid of it.

Here and above: Duncan supervising the snowplows.

After that, it was "Let's walk fast, Mom. It's cold out here." He trotted through the snow, down the driveway, across the street, to one of his preferred areas of grass. He took care of business and started trotting for home.

Back inside, Duncan jumped up on his throne--formerly my chair--and assumed his traffic-cop duties, watching the snowplows do their thing.

All in all, I'd say we had great success.

Hard to Believe It's Been a Year

How I remember Benji: surrounded by his favorite toys.

It's 3:30 pm, Halloween afternoon. Last year at this time, I was at the vet, saying goodbye to Benji. Benji had been with me for just over sixteen years at that point. I'd known for weeks that the day was coming, but that didn't make the day any easier when it finally arrived, when it was time to help Benji cross the Rainbow Bridge. The house felt empty that night, despite the parade of trick-or-treaters outside, and it felt that way for months after, until I brought Duncan home Easter weekend.

Duncan decided he wanted to be wonton for Halloween.

Tonight I will again studiously avoid trick-or-treaters, just as I did that night a year ago. Instead, I will light a candle and sit with Duncan and tell him about the big brother he never knew. How Benji liked to sleep on the back of the sofa in the same place Duncan does. How Benji, like Duncan, couldn't hold his licker. How Benji--all 15 pounds of him--figured out how to take up an entire queen-sized mattress. How Benji loved his squeaky balls. How he "talked" whenever I was on the phone. How Benji purred and groomed himself like a cat. How, in his later years, he liked to sun himself on the deck. How Benji, from his place over the Rainbow Bridge, brought Duncan and I together. (How else to explain that Duncan's adoption began on what would have been Benji's 17th birthday?)

Rest in peace, my Benji boy. And thank you.

In Which I Compare My Novel to a Squirrel

I've been struggling with the second draft of The Novel for months. I was down to the last eight chapters and something kept niggling at me. Even with the changes, the story wasn't sitting right with me and for the life of me, I could not figure out why. I grew increasingly frustrated. Every time I opened Scrivener, it felt like an exercise in futility. I spent less and less of my writing time working on The Novel until I was avoiding it completely.

Then, about a month ago, while I was packing for my Wales trip, I had an epiphany. It finally hit me what was wrong with the manuscript, which gave me a way to fix it. The problem was, I was boarding a plane in short order and didn't have time to put that epiphany into action.

I've been home two weeks, and that epiphany has not left me. I spent last weekend scribbling ideas and even hand-wrote four pages of a new chapter. I think, maybe, I'm finally on the right track with this story.

Then tonight I opened Scrivener to remove the chapters that aren't working.

And I froze.

A panic seized me. It felt as if I'm doing harm to a living thing. It felt the way it did when I accidentally ran over a squirrel with my car. I do not like this feeling.

Still, I know this is the right thing to do. So I sit here with my thumb poised on my laptop trackpad, trying to summon the courage to click the chapters away. . . .