So, not to compleeeeetely overwhelm myself, but I can’t help but want to get together a writing wish list at the start of a new year. Last year I wanted to finish 3 big projects. If you count the freelance novels, I guess I did. But if you count my own novel(s), I did zip. Hmm, let’s not start counting, okay? I don’t want to go freaky with any writing plans for the year. I mean, if I were being over-ambitious, and super-motivated, and in fact slightly insane, I would say:

• Decide, once and for all, what to do with the novel in the box, code name “G”
• Finish at least 4 more short stories in the theme so I have a solid collection, code name “B”
• Do solid progress on the new novel, code name “S”
• Write that screenplay, code name “H”
• Finally find a literary agent
• (Oh, and eat better + exercise = blah blah blah, yeah I’m well aware I’ve got to join that gym)

But I am not saying I’m going to do any of the above things except join a gym. Instead I am going to:

• Read books
• Write stories
• STOP looking for an agent—forget it, I’m done
• STOP giving things code names
• DO NOT plan out all the things I am going to accomplish this year

I think the reason last year felt so disappointing is because I had such outrageous expectations for myself. I have this way of setting goals that aren’t attainable, guilt-tripping myself into agreeing to them, and then smacking myself upside the head when I don’t reach them. It’s a silly way to live. I’ve heard that there are people who appreciate each day while they’re in it. They smell flowers and drink good wine and make friends with strangers. Are those people happy? Who knows. I’m just gonna hang back this year and see what happens.