At the start of the new year, I resolved to write 1,00 words every day of the week, excluding Sundays.
By the end of January, I had 20,000 words. I was one-third of my way through a novel. I also wrote an essay for an upcoming book through Covenant. And I contributed to this amazing multimedia project for The Friend Magazine. (Texas and Minnesota are coming soon…stay tuned!)
In January, I was a Writer.
Also, we ate a lot of pancakes for dinner. On paper plates. The house was cluttered around the edges. I was a tad bit lonely, and a tad bit ornery, because climbing inside your own brain for too many hours can do that to a person.
So in February I decided it was time to get a handle on things. It was time to stop filling my notebooks with poem and story ideas and pick up that vacuum.
I walked into the office for the first time in three months and nearly fainted. Six hours later, I could see the top of my desk.
In February we ate some amazing meals, with a tablecloth and candles. The house gleamed. I even cleaned out the car in ten below. We did sociable things with friends every weekend.
And, up until last Saturday, I had only written 10,000 words. I had very few story ideas, and only wrote half a poem.
So what I wish, Self, as I enter March, is that these two halves of me could please come together in some sort of happy union. Can’t I write and keep a clean house? Can’t good meals be happy on paper plates, as long as we have candles too?
Is there any hope for a writer to finally learn how to file the mail?
And while you’re at it, can I have four more hours in the day, and a 20-year life extension?