It’s difficult pinning your person to a verb. I am a writer who has not done enough writing this year. Or the year before. I haven’t published enough, haven’t built a following, haven’t engaged enough with potential readers. I haven’t built my brand.
I wrote seven slim stories to completion this year, and started the first paragraphs on dozens. I followed those false starts out to different paths and found every one of them well trod and trite and boring. I don’t want to be bored by what I write. Stories are meant to thrill.
It has been a difficult year. It seems it’s been that way for many.
I don’t know how to make the next year better. I want to write more. I want to publish more. I know that the megan from this year would be impressive to the one from ten years ago, but perspective is hard in the middle of the forest.
Next week, I will finish a story. Maybe I’ll write the end and work backwards from there. The week after, I’ll do another. I’ll be okay if it sucks. Maybe I’ll try to make it suck. I think I work better when I don’t care about the outcome. I want to fall back in love with writing. It will be difficult, but the work is important. Not to the world at large, no. I think the earth will keep turning if I don’t manage to find an end to a well read fairytale princess building a Studebaker Avanti. But it’s important to me. I hang my hat on fairytales. I’d be lost without them.