It’s 3:58 pm on January 1, 2018. I’ve done the grocery shopping, gone to the gym, and thought (a lot) about writing. I’m intimidated already. My unspoken New Year’s writing resolutions feel unreachable before I even open a Word file. I have the urge to run the vacuum cleaner which, to anyone who knows me and my lack of interest in housekeeping, is a clear sign of avoidance.
Are you with me? Have you clicked your way here to my website because it’s as close as you’ve been able to get to actually writing today? Computer on, searching, scouring, reading as if the more keys you touch the more you can pretend to yourself that you’re getting something done, or at least trying?
Admittedly, I am in a meta-state of denial because, obviously, I am writing this blog post. But it doesn’t count. As much as I value sharing my thoughts via this cozy little web nest, these words move me no closer to the goal – ‘The End’ – in old school Times New Roman typed after 70- or 80-thousand other words with a plot, characters, and setting. Hold on…
Between the ellipsis above and this sentence, I did something else:
I called my sister (an amazing fellow-writer) and promised her 250 words by end-of-day. A gentle, palatable page of text from my current WIP. I’ve created accountability and a won’t-quite-make-me-vomit-in-terror goal.
On this very first, terrifying, possibly depressing, uncertain, odd, numerically fraught day of 2018, I challenge you to phone a friend, make a promise, and write – even 50, even 20, even 5 – work-in-progress words.
