I finished the advanced writing workshop last week, and today my final class of the year—a session with Marion Lougheed—begins and ends in a single afternoon. This has truly been the year of writing classes. Over the past couple of years, I’ve also taken courses in creativity and art, and usually, when they end, I feel a little sad knowing I won’t be gathering with those people anymore. I enjoy not only the learning, but the small community that forms around shared interests and the conversations that rise out of them.

This time, though, it feels more like a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders. These past six months, my attention has been scattered in a hundred different directions, and I’m looking forward to focus again. Winter is good for that. Our house in Montague feels like a cabin tucked into the woods, hidden from the world at large. All it’s missing is a wood stove—something I’m still considering, if only our insurance would allow it.

Like many intense workshops, I suspect the real learning will come later, when I sit down to read the editorial reviews of the work I submitted—and when I finally have space to reflect. That’s not to say I didn’t learn anything in the moment. When you’re in a “room” with writers who are far more competent, there is always something to absorb. And Lindsay offered sharp insight on an impressive range of craft and non-craft topics. Her students at U of W are lucky to have her.

A few of us from the group plan to keep meeting weekly to review each other’s works-in-progress. I’m hoping that will give me the momentum I need to finish revising one of my manuscripts. Reading their work will inspire me, too.

In the coming year, though, my focus must shift back to our small business. It has suffered from neglect, and many opportunities have slipped by. I’m increasingly aware of just how competitive the landscape has become. Yes—competition. Even though we’ve built something honest for kids, the field is growing crowded with both indie creators and corporate interests vying for the same audience. And in this work, unfortunately, scale seems to matter.