For a long time, I believed that end of each year was like the end of each chapter in the book of our lives.

I don’t believe that anymore.

Take a look at the novels you have read.

There is a basic plot.

There is a basic set characters who work their way in and out of scenes throughout the book.

Some good.

Some bad.

Some major.

Some minor.

Some hang around.

Some leave.

But we definitely know who the characters are. If life were the single book, I would have already forgotten most of the characters. They were important for a while. They have not been around for a long time.

Life has too many plots.

A year only has one with intermittent subplots.

Just like a book.

That’s why I now believe that the end of each year is more like the end of a book that has 365 pages.

No more.

No less.

I figure 365 pages make a pretty good eBook.

It’s not an epic.

It’s simply a slice of life.

And that’s what a year is to the book inside each of us.

The year had a little humor.

I watched and heard my grandchildren say the darndest things.

A little sadness.

Our puppy died.

She wasn’t supposed to.

But she dd.

And there was nothing I could do to save her.

We just sat and scratched her ears and watched her leave us for good.

A little compassion.

I lost too many friends.

I had to hug too many necks.

I had to dry too many tears.

I had to say goodbye too many times.

I cried too many tears in the dark when I was alone.

The year had disappointments.

We still haven’t figured out how to sell books.

But we may be getting close.

It had hope.

I wrote two novels and am finishing a third.

Depressed?

Write another novel.

There is always hope that it breaks through. If not, the next one surely will.

The year had its share of characters.

A few have been around for a long time.

A few are what I would call real friends. And what’s a real friend? Country comedian Jerry Clower once told me that a true friend is one you don’t mind calling at two in the morning if you’re in trouble. They are the ones who would want you to call.

And the year ushered in a lot of new friends.

I know your names.

I know what you write.

I read what you write.

I live with you on Twitter.

In emails.

Through the words of your blogs.

We may never meet, but I appreciate you, have grown accustomed to you, and would hate the face the rest of my life without you. Some of you I would even call at two in the morning.

Thanks for being there.

And the year had a theme.

Life is hard.

Life is not for the weak.

Life goes on.

And it should go on.

And the year gave me the one constant I can depend on.

I have a wife who loves me, some days better than others.

But she loves me.

So another book, another love story, another sad story, another story of hope begins anew on January 1..

The coming year is a not a book that plotters would write. It would drive them crazy.

No one sees the future.

No one can outline it.

No one knows who all the characters will be.

We don’t know what will happen, when it will happen, or to whom it will happen.

That’s what makes the book of 2014 absolutely perfect for us pantsers.

I’ll fly through it by the seat of my pants, as always, which is the way I write my novels.

I don’t know what will happen next and I can’t wait to find out.

Please click the book cover image to read more about Caleb Pirtle III and his novels. Secrets of the Dead is also available on Audible, narrated by Stephen Woodfin.