The End is Where We Start From

© 2012 Elizabeth C. Mock

❝For last year's words belong to last year's language 

And next year's words await another voice. 

…

What we call the beginning is often the end

And to make and end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from. And every phrase

And sentence that is right (where every word is at home,

Taking its place to support the others,

The word neither diffident nor ostentatious,

An easy commerce of the old and the new,

The common word exact without vulgarity,

The formal word precise but not pedantic,

The complete consort dancing together)

Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,

Every poem an epitaph.❞ 

—T. S. Eliot, from “Little Gidding”

Eliot always finds the words when I can’t. Which is, frankly, most times. 

2012 ended my 20s. That decade would layer the foundation of Who-I-Wanted-To-Be-When-I-Grew-Up. During those years, I held tight to the friends who would be the friends of my life, who flanked my cornerstone. I pursued my 7-year-old self’s dream with a child’s resolute conviction, ignoring its statistical absurdity. 

In my 20s, I graduated from college, rented my first apartment, moved to Virginia and then Ohio. I ate takeout, played World of Warcraft, scrounged quarters for coin laundry. I went camping, moviegoing, ren-festing. I traveled, by plane, by train, by roadtrip. I toured Greece, bought my first car, saw my first Broadway show. I read. I wrote. I revised. I self-published. I gained representation. What I started? I finished. 

My 20s saw marriages, divorces, deaths, and the births of my three nieces. The sun set more than a few times, but it always rose again.

Then 2012 ushered in my 30s. I married my best friend, my partner-in-crime and life, a man who’s known me since “teen” postscripted my age. The man who waited six years, till we both became who we needed to be. Now, we share a life defined by laughter. And my life is markedly better for it. Not just because we waved goodbye to coin laundry and bought our first washer and dryer, but it sure don't hurt.

My 30s will bring the birth of my first nephew and, hopefully, my first professional book sale. But these days haven't dawned quite yet. And through relentless hard work, I just might become the me I want to be.

Last night, 2012 ended. So many amazing things, personal and professional, began in 2012. I signed with a literary agency, fulfilled my first professional deadline, attended my first con (and never hid under a chair, which I call a win). I met many wonderful, gracious writers, editors, and artists, some of whom I have the squee-worthy honor to call friends. (Here professional giddily bleeds into personal.) My epic fantasy series sallied forth “on submission” into the frightening unknown of traditional publishing, championed by my excellent agent. Holes dug. Seeds planted. Now, we wait, hoping for spring to come in 2013.

I am beyond grateful and thankful for everything 2012 brought me; a partner-in-life, more career bingo boxes checked off, a warm and loving agency family, and fantastic new friends. I am so blessed.

I have told stories. I make and end. In this, I begin, finding new stories yet to tell, and hopefully lead each word to its home and, along the way, find the sentences to support those around me.  2012 has brought me many steps closer to the grownup me I will be. Time to take more steps in 2013.