It was the worst of times it was the best of times.

As almost everyone else on the net has noted recently, it's been a year since Covid-19 has sentenced so many of us to an early death, to silence and isolation, to daily anxiety over jobs, rent, food, school, and the future. It's not over, but there's hope, now. Hope in the form of vaccinations. Of reduced infection rates (for some). Of spring lightening the darkness (for the northern hemisphere).

Isolation has been expensive. It's destroyed small businesses. Hurt those struggling. Mental illness is surging. There is no travel, no sharing celebrations, no familiar outings to theaters or ball games.

But there has been good news. I've seen kindness that takes my breath away. Gestures from one stranger to another. Children are meeting their over-worked parents and families are being rediscovered.

I published a book.

To others, it may not be such an important or earth-shattering thing. Not the "next great American novel," whatever that means. But, to me? This year of anxiety and stress and worry has had one wonderful result.

There's been no excuse for not writing. For not editing. For not learning how to self-publish and self-market and all those other self-things. Friends and family - and hopefully a few strangers - have met Matthias.

Editing Book 2, now, tentatively titled "Heir's Journey." So much changed in Book 1 since I finished the RD of Book 2, that the edit will be intense.

That's okay. That glut of vaccines we're hearing about? Apparently, Virginia didn't get the memo. Or the vaccines. So it will probably be months until my over 60 arm will be numbed. So I have more isolation time ahead. Time to spend with Matthias and Sollander, Abassa and Deok.

Time for gratitude. My family and friends have survived. My daughter is coming home for a lengthy visit. My first novel is out.

One year later. Time for Book 2.