Okay, it’s time to dust off the rust & fly again.
I took a break once I finished my Masters in Creative Writing last year. I only meant for it to last a week or two, but as is always the case, it keeps stretching out and it’s now been almost 6 weeks with only bits and pieces and the occasional poem written in between. I told myself I’d start my writing schedule back up again this week but already, I’ve found life continually doing its best to get in my way and prevent these fingers from doing their fated work.
Even this declaration of intent has been a struggle to get to – I’m writing this at work right now.
But I have to do it. The great thing about the “52 In a Year” experiment I tried out last year was that my intent was public. Everyone knew my goal and I need only look at the last post to see the gains I’d made, and renew my dedication to keep going.
This time around, I’m not going to aim to do a short story a week. I want to finish this damn novel. That’s my goal this year.
No more excuses. Not even for poetry, that darling orchard in my chest that keeps on growing. This year, I finish my novel and I’ll aim to do that via a weekly goal of 4,000 words, with a 2,000 word minimum for those hard-to-get-to weeks. I don’t think every week will be devoted to the novel. I’m too scatter-brained for that, there will inevitably be a week or two of short story writing interspersed throughout but even accounting for that, I should have this book well and truly done before the end of the year.
I’ve said it now, said it the world. I never keep the promises I make to myself, you see. The silent ones.
But the notion of ever breaking my word to another fills me with horror. So this is my promise to the everyone:
This year, I will finish this novel and more besides. Everything else be damned.
