Finnian Burnett

(The writing of this post is powered by female covers of male songs, currently Kina Grannis covering Creep.)

How is it 2024? I don’t know if its one of those things that just happens as you age, but suddenly time seems to be flying and all my self-imposed finish lines are popping up too fast with countless items on my to-do list still largely undone. I always tell my students that comparison is a form of self-harm. You can’t compare your yearly wrap up with the stuff people post on social media because A. It’s their social media persona and B. Everyone has a completely different journey.

I may have mastered not comparing myself to others but I sure love to compare myself to past Finn. Last year at this time, I was wrapping up my year of 100 rejections for an article I wrote for the Federation of BC Writers. This year, I didn’t manage to make it to even forty submissions and my spreadsheet fell apart sometime in November, though I did manage to submit a couple of things in the last couple of weeks of December. And now, while I’m on break from teaching and in the liminal space between Christmas and New Year’s day when I’m hoping to get a lot done, I’m mostly just reading a lot of books, watching movies and Dr. Who with my wife, eating fancy cheeses, and becoming engorged as a tick on the fancy basket of chocolates our next-door neighbours gave us for Christmas.

Don’t compare present you to past you, right? It’s difficult, though. There are a lot of things I wanted to do this year that I didn’t do. I didn’t start shopping my short story collection, Ravens Don’t Get High Blood Pressure and other tales of queer love. I didn’t finish my Star Trek themed novella-in-flash, though one of the stories from it, “When Captain Picard Was My Dad” did garner me a featured author spot in the winter issue of Pulp Literature.

I love having work appear in Pulp Literature and I’ve enjoyed the feedback I’ve gotten on this story–enough so that perhaps I’ll get back to the novella-in-flash. It’s currently sitting at 5300 words total because all the pieces are microfiction so I need to add at least another 5000 words before it goes out into the world.

I didn’t find an agent for my contemporary novel about a straight guy who plays gay to get published but I did get a full manuscript request on it. And honestly, I don’t think I can complain too much about not finding an agent when I’ve literally only sent it to one person so far.

I didn’t get into the Brevity CNF on the trans experience issue which was a letdown because I felt almost sure about that one. I didn’t make the longlist of a first page contest for one of my fantasy novels. I missed so many submission calls that were important enough to put on my spreadsheet like the Blank Spaces annual contest, the Edinburgh flash fiction contest, the Surrey writing contest. I highlight those in bright yellow so they stand out on my spreadsheet, a testament to missed opportunities.

I submitted thirty CVs for university professor jobs and didn’t get an interview.

So things I’d hoped for didn’t happen. Maybe that’s balanced by the things that happened that I didn’t expect.

I didn’t expect to shortlist for the CBC nonfiction prize.

I didn’t expect to get a large grant to write my current novel and go to England to research it.

I definitely didn’t expect to get a Pushcart Nomination.

I didn’t expect to get an honourable mention for a poetry contest!

I did expect my novella-in-flash, The Price of Cookies would be available for pre-order this year but I didn’t expect my publisher would get a glowing blurb recommendation from some of my favourite authors like Will Ferguson, Mike Blouin, and Christina Myers.

I didn’t expect to show up twice on Andrew Buckley’s absolutely delightful podcast, Storycentric. I also didn’t expect to be co-writing a most deliciously weird novel with Andrew, one that is absolutely flowing on a wave of laughter and absurdity, that Andrew and I are now co-creating a presentation for other writers who want to collaborate, that the weekly meetings to talk about our book would be an absolute highpoint of my week, every week.

I didn’t anticipate how many people would reach out to me to ask me to talk to their students or give speeches or teach classes on everything from creative writing basics to in-depth explorations of point of view to writing queer characters with sensitivity. I didn’t expect how moved I would be by the participants in the classes, how their stories would astound me, how I’d always be learning from their questions and answers, how much of the educational experience is, as always, a back and forth, how intense that is when teaching adult learners who are learning about something they already love as opposed to undergrads in a class they’re forced to take for credit.

I didn’t expect to be coaching a few wonderful emerging authors who have brilliant, distinctive voices and who are going to do incredible things with their writing. Writing community is essential in my life and the people who supported me to get to where I am inspire me to support others.

I did expect that writing community would continue to be important in my life, but I didn’t expect how much I would come to rely on the wit, wisdom, and sensitivity of the small band of writers in my little writing group, nor the support and entertainment I’ve gotten through my much larger Canada Writes writing group.

I didn’t expect to experience so many peaks and valleys in my mental health adventures, that some days, getting any work done would feel like dragging myself through quicksand, that something easy like a 300 word blog post that would usually take twenty minutes somehow takes an hour and a half because the sadness feels so fucking heavy sometimes and that some days, I’d bust through three days worth of work in a day and still not be caught up.

Folks. To quote Captain Picard, “Well – you’re new on the Enterprise. You’ll have to learn to expect the unexpected.” I’m not new to this writing life thing, but man, when am I ever going to learn to expect the unexpected?

The end of the year is always a reflective time for me. Time is a social construct and the calendar is man-made but yearend means something to me anyway. We’re just past the longest night of the year and we’re moving toward more light. Most days right now, I’m filled with sadness and wistfulness. Seasonal depression likes to cozy up to my regular depression and I have to bust out the bag of tricks to maneuver through it. But I’m also carrying a hearty handful of anticipation, as well, a sense of hopefulness, of excitement. The “what will I get up to in 2024” feeling. And while I’m thinking about it, here’s my list of goals for 2024.

Finn’s 2024 goals:

1. Remember that writing time doesn’t have to produce product to be worthwhile
2. Finish zero draft of Arthur, Undressed
3. Get another grant
4. Pitch My One Gay Novel to 100 agents
5. Apply for two residencies – funded ones
6. Queer love stories book published?

And maybe my goal this year will be to approach my work, not with some drive to finish, produce, be successful, but instead with curiosity. Where will I be at this time next year? Where will Arthur be? What might happen with my queer love stories?

What will 2025 Finn be writing about at this time next year? I hope it’s something good.