A Year in Review

A Matter of Perspective

This is the time of year when people often share their “year in review,” whether it be on an app like Spotify, LinkedIn, or Facebook, in a holiday card, or…on Substack.

I believe that there’s value in looking back at the year. But not for reasons of nostalgia or regret.

For the proof of maturation.

Progress.

We are not the same people we were a year ago, and the end of a year is an apt time to honor that. It’s one reason why I enjoy Facebook’s Memories section, even when it can also be bittersweet or heartbreaking. I sometimes cringe at things I posted just a year ago, and even more often at things I posted ten or twelve years ago!

But that cringe, as I see it, is actually a good thing. It’s a sign of growth.

A few weeks ago, a couple of other writers and I were discussing our old blogs. In 2010, when I started my first blog, it felt like A Big Step. Toward what, I’m not sure now! But it meant something to me then, gave me some sense of purpose, however undefinable now.

I don’t generally look at that old blog and, in fact, typically forget it even exists, as I expect I would be embarrassed by aspects of it; that said, I still enjoy the element of growth it represents for me, so if you want a glimpse of the Jessica that existed between 2010 and early 2015, feel free to check out Inciting Thought.

I started this JEK Writes Substack in early 2023, and even that has evolved in varying ways in the nearly three years I’ve been here.

And that’s to be expected.

But growth, really, is a matter of perspective.

We grow because we start to look at things differently.

If you have trouble seeing growth—or change—sometimes it’s a matter of shifting perspective.

This is advice I apply to revising writing, too. When a piece isn’t quite right but you don’t know what to do with it, try looking at it from a different angle.

It often makes all the difference in the world.

Perspective

I love this photo (below) that I took in 1985 of my dad holding our family dog, Higgins. On the back of the photo, my young self had written “the Christmas I got my camera.”

Clearly my photographic composition skills were on point!

Perspective is a way of looking at something, a particular point of view.

One may look at this photo and think, well, it was her first camera and she was a kid, so she accidentally cut off her dad’s head when she took the shot.

No. Actually—and I remember this quite well—I was trying to get a picture of only Higgins. I hadn’t wanted my dad in the photo at all! But Higgins was still a relatively young pup—about three years old—and wouldn’t stay still, so I’d asked someone to hold him so I could take a picture. This wasn’t what I had in mind, but it’s what I got. I remember thinking that if I could just zero in on Higgins when I took the picture, no one would even see my dad. 🤣

As writers, we want people to see what we see. We offer a lens and want others to see the world through our lens.

Writing is about creating an experience for the reader. It doesn’t really matter whether we write fiction or nonfiction; all of it is truth. Our truth.

Truth is interesting because when it comes to end-of-year retrospectives, we finagle the information to fit what we want others to see; truth—even our own—is skewed. That is actually at the core of social media. And quite possibly at the core of society.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that personal skewing, as long as we recognize that we’re seeing just one angle of the truth. In fact, consciously looking for a certain angle can help us come up with a narrative to show ourselves how much we did actually grow and change over the year. That is to say, there is no need to dwell on the negative aspects.

I can recall my mom often saying, “I haven’t accomplished anything today.” This is precisely the perspective to avoid—and it often comes from comparing oneself to others’ portrayals of themselves without recognizing we’re only seeing one perspective and without recognizing our own personal progress (and process).

We are a society that focuses so much on productivity that we often forget process. My mom was a quilter and created a large number of quilts in her lifetime. But whenever she said that she didn’t accomplish anything, she was negating that the process was part of it.

If we only focus on the end product, we are bound to be disappointed with ourselves. Not to mention that some days (weeks, months, years) are about survival, and that’s okay, too. As I was writing that sentence, I thought of Charles Bukowski’s line “What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.” Resilience is growth. Walking through the fire is growth.

And sometimes that survival is simply part of the process.

Retrospective

There were times over this past year when I lamented that I didn’t have much out for submission and didn’t get as many stories published as in previous years. But, again, perspective. I’m offering this retrospective to show that little things do add up.

• I received 85 rejections this year.

• I had 14 stories published.

• I also, with my co-editor/co-founder Tina Carlson, launched a new literary journal. We published two issues within six months!

• I spent a lot of effort on pivoting my business. And as of today (!!), my new website is LIVE!

• I started a monthly poetry slam/open mic event in my town.

• I started a YouTube channel. (Check out my latest video (posted a few days ago) in which I read one of my holiday stories—and I hope you’ll give it a “like” and subscribe if you haven’t!)

There have been massive learning curves for most all of these things. Those learning curves—and setbacks—are part of the process.

Other successes:

• My story “The Day I Went Missing” was selected for Best Microfiction 2025, and my story “Too Good to Be True” was selected for Best of the Net 2025.

• I started taking drawing lessons and discovered I love drawing with charcoal.

  

  My friend Anna’s pup in charcoal, 12.3.25.

• I completed a 5-mile trail run, as well as the annual turkey trot 5k. (And for 2026, I plan to start training for and—if all goes well—complete a half-marathon; it would be my first in eight years!)

• I did two five-day writing residencies, one at the Writers’ Colony at Dairy Hollow and one at Porches in Virginia.

  

  Photo of me at the Writers’ Colony at Dairy Hollows in February 2025.

This is all a reminder to myself that even when it didn’t always feel like it, I was inching my way toward something. Progress sometimes comes in short bursts. Sometimes you go backwards. Sometimes you’re running in place. It’s not always perceptible.

And that’s something that I think is important for writers—and everybody—to remember.

The process is often more important than the end result, and we should be present in it. No “I didn’t accomplish what I wanted to” types of statements.

So, as 2025 comes to a close, I offer this: May you find yourself mesmerized by the process in 2026—the little steps. May you engage with the process, enjoy it!

Happy New Year!!