I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. I know my own propensity for fleeting motivation followed by a slow slide into failure and residual guilt, and I realised long ago that New Year’s resolutions are simply setting oneself up for a fall. So I stopped writing lists of resolutions and sticking them up on my wall, only to be torn down somewhere around mid-February when I was too ashamed to look at them any more. I stopped telling my loved ones that I was going to join a gym/start running again/clean the house/keep in touch, and I gave up on the idea of ever being able to quit biting my nails*. In a nutshell, I relaxed and allowed every New Year to pass by without lying to myself.
So what I am doing here? Why am I writing this post, about to inflict a resolution on myself and the world? I think the answer lies in the fact that this year’s effort is not so much a resolution as a life choice, a career choice and a sanity check, all rolled into one. Because this year, dear reader, I’m going to WRITE MORE. There’ll be journal entries, work on books, stories, notes, letters, reviews, and entries here – some of my words will remain private, some will be for friends and family, and some will be published, here and (I hope) elsewhere.
My (probably unrealistic) ideal is to write at least something each day, even if only a few words, because if I know one thing it’s that writing takes practice, and no one ever wrote a masterpiece by simply thinking about it. So I guess this is by way of a warning. Brace yourself, 2013.
*For the record, I did quit biting my nails, but not as the result of a New Year’s resolution.