My name is Anne Louise Bannon. I am primarily known for my historical mysteries, particularly, the Old Los Angeles series, set in the 1870s and featuring Maddie Wilcox, a physician and winemaker.

Joe jumped behind the wheel of his car. He felt like he’d been swimming in his morning coffee, a triple-shot death wish, extra sugar. From the passenger seat, Susan watched him, thinking Joe looked beyond hyper. What was wrong with her best friend?

It’s coming. Revision of my finished manuscript is approaching like warm weather—and mud and bugs. Writing the second draft of my novel will occupy my summer. I’m looking forward to the process like a new season; it promises new life and fresh ideas. But with every silver lining, there’s a cloud. Revising book chapters that have been ingrained in my mind for a year will be a challenge.

So, the novel is in the hands of the powers-that-be. While its future hangs in the balance, what does a writer do in the meantime?

This is my first blog post of 2021 . . . a year that we are ushering in with much hope, albeit guarded hope, as we are in the early days of the vaccination process that should begin to return our lives to some semblance of normalcy.

In this space, I typically review the previous year’s achievements, milestones, and funny moments. What can I say about 2020?

I don’t know if I’m really ready to write about it—but here goes. It was a bad year, full of anxiety, fear, depression, and loss.