Let's burn down 2017.

2017 was the year that went too fast, it was the year that wouldn’t end.

Being a writer means you had better be fucking patient. There’s no other way to live. I wrote three books this year, but only published one. That means I worked myself to the bone for glory that Future Meg gets to enjoy. 2017 Meg has been paying her rent based on labor that 2013 Meg did. Hardly seems fair, when I think about how broke we were in 2013. But the presses of the world move slowly, and even in the internet age word of mouth is what heats them up and gets them going. So thank you all for reviewing, for tweeting, for telling your friends. You've made my year.

So I’ve worked all year to strike a balance between the hustle of a sidewalk seller and the patience of a cloistered nun. I’ve published six short stories this year, so that people don’t forget my name while the next thing grinds its way out into the world. I wrote freelance essays and creative nonfiction, I read my work in bars and bookstores and bathrooms with good acoustics. I wrote three books in between: my first horror novel, my first mainstream(ish) novel, and the third book in the Road to Nowhere series. I was able to do all this without a day job since February. I get to do that because my partner John dreams it and works it and grinds it with me. That’s been a gift.

2017 was a gift, but it was the kind I didn’t ask for and never expected. Some things can’t be re-wrapped once they’re open, like the #MeToo movement. Some things come along just when we need them, like the election of Danica Roem.

This has been a year of uncommon gifts. Like everyone else, I’ve got a list of the things I loved the most. So here’s the cream of the crop:

Books:

I loved Victor LaValle’s “The Changeling” this year. Imagine you’ve just had a baby and you keep getting pictures sent to your phone of your kid in unsafe places, in upsetting conditions. But when you try to show the photos to anyone, or accuse your partner of neglect, the photos disappear. The first 50 pages of this book unsettled me BAD. I read a lot of horror and I have no children. This is the good stuff.

Catherynne M. Valente is a strong contender for the greatest living writer of the English language, so it will surprise no one that I adored her “Refrigerator Monologues” the minute I got my hands on it. If you enjoy comic books but have noticed that women characters get shafted an awful lot, you’ll probably like it, too.

I fell down the rabbit hole of Seanan McGuire’s Wayward Children series and I’m never coming back. What happens to kids who go on magical, life-changing adventures in other worlds? If the adventure ends and they have to go home, how do they return to real life? How can they ever go home again? These books broke my heart over and over. They also turned me on to a lot of McGuire’s back catalog, including her hitchhiking ghost story “Sparrow Hill Road,” and her rebellious superhero, Velvetine.

“You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me” by Sherman Alexie was one of the most surprising reads of this year for me. I bought it because the cover copy promised the the story of a great writer mourning the mother he hated. My biological mother died two years ago and I still struggle to describe how I feel about that, so I thought this was the book for me. It was, but not because it eased that struggle.

Short stories:

My absolute favorites this year in this category include another Cat Valente joint: “Down and Out in R’lyeh” It's a Lovecraft tale told by a pissed-off droog, and it made me scream, both with laughter and with righteous glee.

This is short and NSFW and so true I’m mad that I didn’t write it myself.

“Say, She Toy” by Chesya Burke made me so uncomfortable I could barely stand it. Good.

K.M. Sparza gave up the best vampire story of the year with “Small Changes Over Long Periods of Time.” I adored how subtle this was, and I've read it about five times now.

A lot of what I loved this year was Patreon-specific content, so I can’t share it with you. But I can share the idea of Patreon. Chances are that many of the creators you love have one. Look them up and think about pledging a dollar here and there. My monthly Patreon budget is small, but I get a lot of great art for it.

The image up top is a picture of everywhere that published me in print in 2017. One of those magazines is 70 years old. The one underneath it is in its inaugural issue. Both of the anthologies are an honor to be part of, with great tables of contents and a lot of weird and wonderful stories within.

And one of those books is my second published novel. Whatever else 2017 brought to me, no matter the everyday horror or the existential dread, I have been settled in my soul with the knowledge that I put out good work this year. The alignment of my purpose and my profession has been the absolute best thing about 2017, and I wish everyone this feeling of rightness in their lives. Mine feels like paper and smells like heaven.

Fierce love and a lot of growling at the turning of the year,

Meg