Additionally, forgive me for talking about me me meeee.

Here we are: the finale of 2012. Despite numerous prognostications and my own nerves, the world didn’t end. Just like when I turn to the last page of a journal, I love to look back and ask what the hell happened?

When I scroll back through the posts of this year, I discover an interesting inversion: though the year began with lonely weekdays and little connection to the outside world, you, dear reader, kept my spirits high. Then, as the year progressed and I began to write more (and sometimes for money!) I began blogging less.

The switch occurred for two major reasons. First, I learned that any work I posted on my blog could be considered “published” and therefore ineligible to submit to contests. Second, I began introducing myself as a Marketing Communications Consultant and actually won projects, which necessarily ate up quite a bit of my time. Rather than focus on creative work every day, I began writing and learning how to make money.

Another 2012 discovery came in the form of my preferred genre. When I undertook November 2011’s NaNoWriMo, I wrote about half of a fiction novel. As my sci-fi gears ground to halt, I revisited my MFA portfolio and realized my favorite pieces were true. I loved to write about real life and welcomed the challenge of elevating the authentic through art. Writing true stories, I discovered, also relieved my fear of the endless horizon. Real life offers  a temporal beginning, middle and end, constraints that offer the structure I need. I took my first creative non-fiction class in the spring.

Since that first course I’ve taken two more class, several day seminars and read onstage (from memory!) twice. I’ve written short and lyrical essays, chapters of a startling long-winding work, and blog posts for artists across Charlottesville. Between growing groups of writer friends and discovering new literary mentors, I built a community to surround my effort with the love and attention my extroversion craves. I’m proud of my progress, such as it is, and feel ready to take great strides in 2013.

My only major resolution: finish 15 essays (or one very long piece) by June 30th.

While January 2012 saw me sitting lonesome in an armchair in my new living room, writing fiction and banging my head against an emotional wall, January 2013 looks completely different. I’ll be working full-time at my old scent company while my replacement enjoys her maternity leave. As I bounce back and forth from Virginia to New Jersey, and I’ll revisit a life I thought I’d left: corporate by day, writer by night (and early morning). I’ve got ten weeks of classes, a writer’s retreat, and a book of ten-minute prompts to get me moving. I’m really excited to go all-in, and I’m grateful that, as always, you’re here by my side.

I’d also love to hear your goals, to know the dreams and writerly passions you plan to fuel in 2013. How will you there? Any big dates in mind?

Click here to view the embedded video.

Thanks to Poets & Writers for sharing this.

Note: this post originally appeared on Cville’s WriterHouse blog.

When I moved to Charlottesville a year ago, I spent my first three months holed up in my townhouse, writing furiously. Four hundred pages and zero social interactions later, I knew something had to give.

Writing is a solitary endeavor, but the extrovert in me was losing it. I clung to the salespeople at Belk because they sounded so genuine when they asked how my day was.

“Great!” I sobbed, clawing at their sensible lapels. “I just moved here from New Jersey, and it’s really great to be in this mall with all of these people and bright lights!”

I’d moved to Charlottesville to get uncomfortable, to shift out of my corporate routine and into a creative one. But I discovered something in those first months: writing without company felt less like a kick in the ass and more like a blanket of isolation and despair.

I shook my post-verbiage shell shock by connecting with my local literary community.  In this season of Thanksgiving, I’m grateful to be surrounded by caring, supportive writers, and I want to share three easy ways you can do the same.

1. Take a Class

Nothing gets conversation moving like shared experience. In-class prompts, readings, and homework assignments not only sharpen your skills, they also offer weekly connections to like-minded writers.

Classes at Writerhouse gave me a respite from the dark and lonely places in my mind, the fear of the hours it takes to get a few words peppered on the page. I’m a real addict—I just finished my third non-fiction class—and the people I’ve met have been just as special as my education. Some of us even meet outside of class to continue writing together. Bonus!

2. Get Social

November is winding down, but NaNoWriMo is still in full swing. National Novel Writing Month is the perfect time to introduce yourself to writers in Charlottesville and across the country.

Twitter is a lonely writer’s paradise in November, when @NaNoWordSprints challenges writers to write as much as possible in given time frames. Take on their prompts, including key words and plot twists, and you’ll get involved in the conversation fast.

You should also search #NaNoWriMo on Twitter. You’ll discover a list of writers who encourage one another, and you can follow and engage with those who share your interests. I recommend starting with @CvilleWrimos.

3. Share Your Story

The easiest way to expand your literary network is to simply introduce yourself as a writer. Too many people hesitate to share their interest in writing, defeating themselves with ideas like “I have a day job, so I’m not really a writer,” or “I haven’t published anything yet, so my work doesn’t even count.” Self-criticism comes standard with a writer’s temperament, but it shouldn’t stop you from owning your art.

As soon as you say to a new acquaintance, “My name is _______, and I am a writer,” a world of connections will open to you. Everyone knows someone who is a writer, especially in Charlottesville, and once you share your passion with the world, the world will come to you.

Your Community Is Waiting

One year ago, I faced a long, dark winter without many friendships and too much angst about my work. Now I meet for weekly lunches with a tight-knit group of women, and we hold each other accountable to our writing goals. I’ve met journalists and essay writers, storytellers and poets, and I quietly thank the passion that binds us. If you’re reading this piece, I suspect you share it too, and once you start looking, you’ll find us everywhere.

Here it is: proof that I can spend 20 hours on something that takes five seconds to read.

The piece is about a Charlottesville non-profit that installs sculptures all over town. It was really fun to learn more about it, and especially fun to drink sparkling apple juice with the yogis who coronated their friend’s work. Three cheers for the arts and local editors who trust a stranger when she claims to know how to write.

“Who knows how they’ll dress up?” I asked. I used my perky voice because the conversation was dying and we needed some spirit.

“I don’t think I’ll bother this year.”

“Me neither.”

“Yeah, it just doesn’t seem worth it. What about you, T?” Sarah* looked at Boyfriend, who attempted to balance graham cracker slices on a brick.

“Oh, I’ll just wear whatever Elizabeth tells me to.”

Ha ha, ha ha. “And this is why our costumes will suck. No help at all. What about you, Brian?”

The engineer crossed his arms and dug himself further into his low-slung camping chair. “No way.”

“Well.” I nibbled on a dry Hershey’s as our words sputtered out like the campfire smoke. “Well, how about this? So Boyfriend and I were having a debate the other night about buying candy for Halloween. I have this belief that you have to give kids something awesome because, I mean, come on. Childhood only comes once. But he didn’t want to spring for the nice stuff, so we might just go for toothbrushes.” I looked around, waiting for the groans of condemnation that would cement the place of Snickers in our giveaway bowl.

“You know what I plan to do?” Brian said quietly. “I’m going to turn off all my lights, barricade my porch with furniture, and lock my front door. That’ll teach ‘em.”

Sarah barked a laugh.

I spluttered. “What? What are you, like, a serial killer?”

“No, I just hate kids! I hate kids especially on Halloween! Like why should I give them candy? Just because they were born and their parents bought them a costume? Hell no.”

Boyfriend gave me a meaningful see-at-least-I’m-not-that-bad look.

“You should give them a LOT of candy, then. Or a Red Bull each.”

Brian shook his head in disgust. “Kids today.”

UPDATE: I bought SIX pounds of candy and had 11 trick-or-treaters this year. Needless to say, those 11 trick-or-treaters didn’t sleep for a week.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.