This isn’t about politics, though. It’s about writing and how I haven’t done any of it.
This year was hard in many different ways. I lost my grandmother. I had many unexpected issues pop up. Did I intend to write and submit a novel to FFP last year? Yes. Did I actually do it? No.
Well, I wrote it. It’s just… I got three months into the editing process and then got distracted and never went back to it. The novel I’m working on (#4 in the Olympic Passions series, if anyone’s curious) needed a complete rewrite from draft one, and I only got about halfway into it before stopping. Looking at it now, it still needs a lot of work, what I’ve done in the rewrite so far, but it’s a step up from where it was.
Anybody who knows me knows how much I despise editing, how terrible I am at doing it. How at some point I always want to toss out the whole thing and pretend it never happened, just make my life easier. It’s no different this time around. I’m trying to get better, to see things on my own before I let other people see it, to spot my own patterns and problems that seem to continually crop up. We all have them. It’s just frustrating to see you’re not getting any better at fixing it.
I wrote a story the other day and used the word “gentle” at least six times. Possibly more.
I want this year to be better. I want to stop stressing out about things I can’t control. I want to write more. Travel more (and not just work trips). I want things to be different.
There’s only one way to make sure that happens, and that’s to just freaking do it. Make it happen. Edit that novel. Buy that plane ticket. (And renew your passport–don’t forget that).
Here’s to 2018 being better than 2017. We’re gonna make it happen.