School starts tomorrow.
And I should be glad, right?
I mean, I love to teach. I love my students. I learn myself every semester.
My biggest goal this year is to write like a writer.
Not interpret for the Deaf.
Not wonder if child support is coming in on time.
In fact, I’ve been thinking about this for a few years. Since my divorce. When I got the very distinct impression that I must be able to take care of the girls and me on my own.
Have I done anything different since those first thoughts and feelings?
Written more consistently.
Tried to come up with better ideas.
But not much more.
This year I plan to do differently.
I plan to take this job I have seriously.
Really very extremely seriously.
You get the picture.
And I am going to log it here—watch myself here—either grow and do what I want—or fail and stay the same.
And the same is good.
But it’s not good enough.
I have many worries.
First—I have a dear, dear friend who writes because she must. And she hates to write now. I don’t want that to happen.
This is something I must explore because I can feel myself getting to that place—that place where I hate the process. And I have always loved it. Easy enough fix—I think: Write what I love to write.
Second—I am going to look at people who are writers—full-time writers. Not teachers, too. Not speakers, too. Writers. I want to see how they do it. (Yes, I know. Some have people who support them. Or supported them in the beginning. But I am past that.) Looking, exploring, searching, finding means learning.
Third—I rarely complete anything I start. Not including my novels (some because I have been paid already—SCARY!!!!!) or labor (because I had no choice). Another easy fix: Write. Write daily. Write as though this is my job. Don’t let computers or laundry or TV (or etc) get in the way of my job.
Fourth—I get sick sort of easily. In fact, I would have started this long ago (like days ago—like January 1, 2014) but I have spent this whole school break either puking, twisted up with muscle spasms or with a migraine. Hmmm. I have some ideas here, but I’m not ready to share them.
Fifth—I am so unorganized.
We own too much crap.
Not enough time.
(this constant headache.)
But: I have hired my children to help me get rid of the extra. All of the extra. Even the good stuff that we don’t use but that I want.
Sixth—What if I fail?
What if I can’t do it?
What if I screw this up and you all see me do it?
Simple: I guess you’ll see me try. And that’s all I can do.
For the fun of it—something more to read.
And then, just for a laugh: