Resolved: To Stop Making Writing Resolutions

Happy new year! With the first January post of the year comes the near-obligatory charge to address the making of new year's resolutions. I'm not going to do it. Why? Because this year, instead of resolutions, I'm concentrating on a different "r" word--routines.

In my experience, resolutions, no matter how well meant, don't really change anything substantial.In fact, unless they're written down and posted somewhere prominent, they're often forgotten by Valentine's Day.

Routines do change things. Routines are like taking resolutions and giving them hands and feet. Routines lift resolutions up off the couch and shoo them out into the world to do their work.

Here's what I mean.

Resolution: I resolve to receive a publishing contract for my novel this year.

Really? Unless I choose to self-publish, that goal is out of my control. I can't make a publisher offer me a contract, any more than I can make them pluck my manuscript out of the slush pile and read it in the first place. But what I can do is make sure the novel is constantly in circulation, constantly in motion, constantly landing on someone's desk.

Routine: I will take action every week/month/quarter to give my fiction proposal the best chance of being seen by the right publishers. That's something I can do. I can research publishers and narrow down what they're looking for. I can craft and polish my query letter and proposal until they sparkle. I can work with my agent to make sure the proposal is being sent to the right pairs of eyeballs. I can set appointments to meet with editors at writing conferences. While I can't make the proverbial horse lean down and take a sip, I can do plenty of things to lead him to water and make that water look mighty appealing and thirst-quenching to a thirsty horse.

Here's another example:

Resolution: I will finish writing my second novel.

The problem with this resolution is that, not only is it vague (what constitutes "done," anyway? So many words written, no matter how rough? Polished and shined to perfection?), but I won't know for months whether it's a realistic aim. By December 2014 when I look back and say "I did it" or "I didn't do it," it's too late to make any necessary mid-course corrections. However, if I recast it . . .

Routine: I will write at least 500 (or 1000 or 250) words a day on my novel.

That's a goal I can control. When evening falls, either I've done it or I haven't. The result may be a finished novel, or it may turn out to be a darn good start. Either way, the routine of writing X number of words a day is in my control, even when the result is not.

When it comes to your writing, do you tend to make resolutions or set routines (or both, or neither)? How will you keep your productivity high in 2014?

Christmas Alone

The following is a guest post by Terry Robinson, a Coeur d'Alene writer. Thank you, Terry!

Photo courtesy of snaplaundromat.com/au

Christmas Alone
by Terry Robinson

Sitting in the small laundromat, aimlessly flipping through my copy of Business Week, the full impact of decisions I had made earlier in the year came into focus.  It was Christmas Eve and I was alone, living far away from home in a small town an hour north of Indianapolis. The door opened and a young woman walked in carrying her laundry. She had a slender build, not quite blocking the doorway as she entered. I looked past her, noticing the predicted snow had started to fall and had already begun to cover the street and the town’s single traffic light. It had grown dark and with the darkness felt colder than it was.

I was in a new job and not in a position to take the time off to travel home for Christmas. So I would be alone this year. It was a lonely feeling, but one I willingly made to advance my career. The young woman sat next to me, having completed the ritual of starting her laundry. Content in thumbing through my magazine, I ignored her, though she seemed intent on having someone to talk to. Our eyes met for just a second, long enough for me to take notice that she was quite attractive, with reddish hair and blue eyes. My glance lingered just long enough that she seized the opening and wondered aloud, "Why do you suppose two attractive people in their twenties might be alone on Christmas Eve?" Her name was Chris, and in her I saw an opportunity to escape the loneliness and be with someone for a while. Even if just for the evening. As she rambled on about growing up on a farm in northern Indiana and how she wasn’t able to make it home for the holidays, I smiled and listened quietly. I had been around long enough to recognize she was showing an interest in me and I was entertaining the notion of inviting her over to my home for a glass of wine.

By now Chris had completely engaged me in conversation and innuendo. As I watched her speak and smile and move about the room, I began to feel close to her. Her warmth began to replace the empty cold of being alone and far from home. Being with her seemed to fill a void in my soul. Could spending the evening with this young woman make it better, make me feel better, or would it be just a temporary healing? As I was about to invite her over, I felt the ache in my heart once again and came to recognize that while she might have made it better for a while, being with her would not fill the emptiness in the same lasting way that family does. In that instant I wished her a Merry Christmas, gathered my things and headed home. And, I was alone.

I made my New Year’s resolution that evening: to never be alone again on Christmas.

Author bio: Attending Washington State University in the 70s, Terry enrolled in the communications program and aspired to being a photojournalist. Somehow life got in the way and he graduated from Central Washington University with an accounting degree and has been in finance and accounting ever since.  Terry has lived throughout the country in eleven states, and has traveled through all fifty states.  He enjoys writing about events in his life with an emphasis on life in North Idaho. Terry is currently the Chief Financial Officer for Kootenai Electric Cooperative. Terry and his wife Sue currently call Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, home and  have two grown daughters in Colorado. 

Math Phobia, or My Worst New Year's Resolution Ever.

Blame it on Barbie.

Do you remember when toymaker Mattel created a minor scandal by equipping a talking Barbie doll with the recorded comment, "I hate math. Math is hard."? Equal-rights proponents, especially those eager to see an increased number of women pursuing STEM careers (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math) raised such a hue and cry over this demoralizing influence on young girls that the offending statement was swiftly banished from Barbie's vocabulary--replaced, one assumes, by something far more innocuous, like "I love tiny pink plastic shoes" or "I have physical proportions not found in nature."

The thing was, I didn't quite see what the fuss was about. After all, I too hate math. Whatever qualities make for a good math mind, I have the opposite. Even the simplest calculations tend to make my brain fog over. For a reasonably smart person, I have a capital-D Deficiency when it comes to numbers. I explain this away by claiming to be a "words" person, not a "numbers" person. (And right now you're muttering that that's a cop-out if ever you heard one. Am I right?)

Somehow I skimmed through high school and college by meeting only the bare-minimum math requirements. Since then, calculators and spreadsheet programs have allowed me to limp along in the real world, to some extent.

Which brings me to the point of this post (yes, there is one):  My Worst New Year's Resolution Ever, the year I decided to teach myself math in a misguided effort to overcome the shame and dread of story problems involving trains leaving this station and that station, and the eternal fruitless quest for X.

And so, thought I, what better way to spend cold, dark winter evenings than plumbing the depths of arithmetic, algebra, even (gulp) geometry? Visions of calculus danced in my head. Just pull out a textbook and begin at the beginning. It should have been simple, right?

Dear reader, I barely made it past chapter one in the textbook. I yawned. I balked. I fogged. Every bad memory I had of math class came rushing back to me, full force. After a halfhearted attempt or two, I dreaded even cracking open the book. And with no teacher holding me accountable, I didn't.

So on top of my epic failure to understand math in school, I have now added a epic failure to stick to a New Year's resolution meant to overcome the first epic failure. Two epic failures for the price of one!

What was your worst New Year's resolution? Or your best one? Write it up and submit it to our Best/Worst New Year's Resolution contest. If you never make resolutions, tell us why you don't. We'd love to hear from you, and you might even win a prize! Details are on our Contests page.

In the meantime, I've been eying an online course in Basic Math. Hope springs eternal. Maybe having an instructor to guide me will help it all make sense, instead of trying to figure it out on my own.

Maybe. But don't hold me accountable.