Only it’s not the 365th day, is it? I think it’s Day 20, meaning the 20th day of the year – but who’s counting anyway?
I failed, dear reader. I failed hard. I set out in January 2016 to write and blog every day about my writing – I set a goal of 365 (or 366?) posts. And then I didn’t reach that goal. I totally gave up. Completely and utterly.
And I was okay with that. Still am, actually.
I did write for the rest of the year, but I kept it all to myself. I worked on the novel I have been editing for five years. Then I started a new novel. Then I scrapped the one I had been editing and am now in the midst of completely overhauling my plot line and structure. It’s fun. I am enjoying the process and being incredibly patient and forgiving with myself. I am also learning tons about everything. About writing. About me. And I am surprising myself – it is extremely exciting.
In short – I am SO glad I failed last year.
I wanted 2016 to be my “Year of Doing”. It was – for the most part. I did do things. I traveled. I went outside of my comfort zone. I walked the runway in a freaking fashion show! I had experiences. I met people and made some amazing connections. But I also retreated – mostly in the sharing aspect. When it came to posting my thoughts and candid moments on various social media platforms, and my blog, I lost my lust for it. It began to be a game of “how many likes will I get?” and it made me step back one day with a whoa-hold-on-there moment, and seriously question my motives. I’m a writer. Not a spotlight seeker, attention grabber or someone who needs the approval of strangers. So really – what was I doing here? I needed to re-evaluate things and I realized blogging was making me grumpy.
So one Saturday last July my husband and I were driving to my family reunion. I hadn’t published a blog post before we lest the house that morning, and I knew it would bother me all day – looming over my enjoyment of a lovely summer day with my family, filling me with obligation and failure. I knew this feeling would weigh me down. So I let it go. I rolled down the window on the car and let. that. shit. fly off down the highway. I turned to my husband and said, rather abruptly in a spur-of-moment kind of fashion, and and rapidly blurted “I think I just decided to stop blogging every day.” You know what? I instantly felt lighter.
My husband didn’t protest, or try to get me to consider what I was saying. He supports me no matter what I decide to do with my writing. He just shrugged and said something like “okay.” (Actually I am not sure if he said anything, he most likely just shrugged.)
Now, I am not going to turn this post into yet another “I blogged and I stopped and now I want to start again” rant.
…and I have said this before….
I am a writer who has not yet published a novel. I am not even sure if being published is my goal. I just want to put words on
paper (screen). And writing as much as I can makes me a more consistent writer. It makes me a fearless writer. I view blogging as practice, as a way extend my creativity. So here I go. Again.
Simplify. Simplify. Simplify.
My life isn’t glamorous. It isn’t exciting. I work from home, my office is in the basement of my home. My teenage kids are all old enough that they have either moved out, moved away or preparing to go off to post secondary school. I wake up, I sit at my computer, I go to yoga, I feed my dogs, I cook dinner. I knit and binge watch on Netflix. I take my vitamins and drink my coffee black. Occasionally I go on adventures. And that’s it. That’s the who I am. (gasp!) I’m a human.
Why am I here? To chronicle. I record. I journal. I hone my skills. I learn.
Yes, I will share my words and thoughts. But not overly…..