Ya know, it's been a damn good one.
Got a lot of art made, some bad, much forgettable, but some good stuff that I'm proud to have made, too, including my most popular painting yet, the Azezaelbunny. Sold a metric asston of orginals, as James would say. Made some money--not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but as much as I've ever made on art, which granted that this year I took almost no commissions and did mostly my own stuff, is a great thing. Got some art into some books, if not Spectrum yet. Digger vol 1 came out, Digger got praised in the New York Times and won a WCCA for art.
Everybody was pretty healthy. James got Lymes Disease, but got over it. I had painful dental work, but got over it, too. The cat puked a lot, but this is one of her hobbies. Both sets of parents seem to be doin' pretty well, too. No major financial crisis, didn't have to move, saw some neat birds, hung out with good friends. Shed some tears, had some laughs, a lot more of the latter than the former, which is always a plus. Continued to be married to an excellent husband. Read some good books and some lousy ones, saw some good movies and some lousy ones, ate some good meals and some I cooked myself, played some games, filled the time.
And next year, so far, has no major shadows looming over it either, and some definite bright spots on the horizon. "Black Dogs" is slated to be published by the redoubtable Sofawolf, along with Digger 2, and who knows, maybe I'll scrape together more tales of the Little Creature, too. My career, thanks in large part to you, O Most Excellent Fanbase, continues apace, and my newly acquired agent will hopefully be able to weasel me into some galleries as well.
So ya know, it was a great year. I can't remember a better one as an adult. And if 2006 is even half as good, I will consider myself the luckiest of artists, and sacrifice chocolate to Ganesh.
Happy New Year, all!
*This always reminds me of bathospheres. I imagine people in little iron balls, sinking into the dark waters of Livejournal, peering out at the drifting inhabitants. "Ooo! An angstfish! Note the pity lure dangling from the front of the head, with which it lures in unwitting sympathizers!" Darting shoals of quiz results flicker past, a lone phosphorescent photosquid slowly jets by, before it's startled into voiding its link sac and vanishing in a cloud of little broken picture icons. Off in the distance, great shadowy sharks cruise, discussing politics and religion and making elaborate qualifiers that they don't mean YOU, you're one of the NICE ONES, while tiny remoras slip along their skins, picking off bits of drama. Jacques Cousteau narrates as we visit this deep and complex ecosystem.