I wrote because I remembered that so many of the great moments of life are made of small ones. I wrote because I needed to hear that compassion could overcome grief, that a cup of tea was the most healing thing in the world, that winter was a season owed respect but that summer matters too, and that stories are a power beyond anything we see.

A year of grief, of growth, of rest, of magic, of creation, of beginnings after endings.

There are times in one’s lives where one realizes they are watching the advent of something new, great, and wonderful.

I think it is little surprise that I create when I am in pain. I think that’s as valid a motivation to create as anything.

There’s a genuine sense of connection, and that everlasting sense of a missed connection which lingers on the periphery of recent death.

It is a story which encourages you to slow down and appreciate not the great works of heroes and villains, but the small moments shared on the journey towards those great works.

Through the lens of a Cruise-led slick spy thriller we are woven into an apparently misfit bunch of disgusted and disgruntled officers…

…the appeal of anything set in the Star Trek universe does not rely to some degree on a sincere, unabashed cheesiness backed with a core of almost saccharine sincerity.

…caution and comfort in equal measure, a cathartic release and a sympathetic ear ready to tell a joke over a wine tasting of longing and regret.

This year… we leave you the future, and if you die, you die star-brilliant.