In July of 2017, I told myself I would have a manuscript ready to pitch and query in 2018. And uh, yeah… about that. I’ve got some work to do. No more half-assing. No more starting and stopping. No more partially finished drafts before moving on to the next story idea my dumb brilliant brain wants to bring forth into quasi-existence. No more feeling like a pile of wet mushy flesh run over by a truck driven by Despair and his backseat driver, Anxiety. Well, I can’t control that too much. Body and Brain do what the Body and Brain want to do apparently.
BUT, I’ll try to help it out as much as I can possibly muster with food of the colorful crunchy variety (I’m thinking Froot Loops. That’s healthy, right?) and exercise, rest, and chanting under a torrent of rain to the Gods of Body Rejuvenation. Ya know, the usual self-care bullshit. So if I can push through it, I’m gonna push through it. Because this book for some holier than thou reason ain’t writin’ itself.
(And yes, I did ask, in my most sugary voice that could ooze molasses if a voice could ever ooze molasses, if the book would write itself and it said, “What the fuck, bitch? You know you got to do this yourself, right?.” Book’s got some sass, y’all.)
So, I have set goals. I have set deadlines. I have assigned rewards because yes, I’m five years old and need motivational treats. And I apparently need to learn habits and uh, like, how to be an adult sometimes too.
So… whew! Lots to do and accomplish this year. Adulthood. Eat more vegetables. Learn how to chant. Write a goddamn book. YOU GUYS. SO. MUCH. TO. DO.
I have a couple events on the calendar to throw my words at people and hope they like ’em, one of which is the PNWA 2018 Conference in September. I attended this conference for the first time in 2017, and I can’t wait to catch up in real life with writers I met last year and kept in touch with via Twitter. I’m hoping for fabulous success stories as well as making a whole other slew of new writer friends.
So, I’ve gotta go, like, write some words now…and maybe pray to some of those word gods of imagination and coherency under a new moon in the dead of night wearing nothing but a white sheet and the blood of my enemies painted upon my face. Apparently if you do this ritual correctly, you wake up in the morning with your book written out on your white sheet…
…yes, written in the blood of your enemies.
So, if we all make it through the hellscape that is known as the United States of America: Version 2018, I’ll see y’all on the flip side. In the meantime, keep on keepin’ on. Call your reps. March in the streets. Make your voices heard. Take care of each other. And create.