A Startling Revelation

I was just reading a book, minding my own business and getting nicely lost in a world that doesn't exist. Sometimes it is nice to do such things on a Saturday night rather than trawl through the drunken masses.... Any way, I was reading and all of a sudden it hit me. Out of the blue and with such violent force than my breath actually caught in my throat, it hit me.

I'm in love with my best friend.

I wasn't even thinking about him at the time. But there it is, in cold hard pixels.

And now I cant stop thinking about it. When I see my future I see him in it. And it's beautiful and it's perfect and its ever lasting. And it is entirely fictional - and always will be.

I cant tell him, that much is clear. No matter how day-time drama that notion is; I know him and I'm not even close to being the type of woman he goes for. Besides, he's in my life now - importantly and majorly. It wouldn't do to break that bond over something so tenuous as love.

It will be far better to keep the link alive as it stands now and banish this ridiculous notion from my mind. Now that it is out there, in the open and out of my head, that should be achievable.

Magical Lists

In the spirit of being more organised and have actual goals to work towards, I have called upon the assistance of Rachael - who from this point forward shall be known as Special Agent Redra - and initiated the magical list of 25 things to do before we are 25. Our birthdays are so close that I figured a month in either direction wasn't going to kill any one.

Now, I know that the idea of such a list is not new, or novel. But it is what we are doing, and we are sticking to it (this will not be a New Years resolution repeat). I will have a list - and I will kick the butt of this list.

Yes, I may have control issues at the moment - but there is so little about my life this year that I actually am in charge of so this helps. Taking back my life one step at a time.

We always think when we are younger that by the time we reach our early to mid twenties that we will have all the answers we need and will be grown ups making our way in the world. It's a bold face lie. I'd like to think that there is no magical number that exists to marker the change from young to old... And I refuse to have a quarter life crisis because things are not going my way. Having control issues seems safer somehow.

So its time to enjoy the free fall, December starts in a matter of days and then its time to get serious.

Success

I did it. I reached the NaNoWriMo goal of 50,000 words in a month - well a little under a month any way. Over 50,000 words in 25 days. And while I knew going into the process that reaching the goal would be an achievement, I was unprepared for just how... amazing I would feel.

The shear wave of... unadulterated joy. The confidence boost of knowing know that yes, I can do it; yes I am capable of achieving something. When surrounding myself with so much rejection and so much failure, the notion that I am capable of a success - however it might seem to others. It warms me.There are those that don't understand - of course there are - but that is fine. Just because there is no real physical 'prize', the knowledge that I can - that this writing thing is doable - that is worth more than any amount of money or swag.

And that attitude, that sense of accomplishment surprises me.

I am, by nature, not one to diminish or ignore the material aspects of life. I like the tangible I wont deny it. But this seems more somehow. This is something that I have done, I have created with my own two hands. Maybe that is why my feelings of success are so great.

But the ultimately the whys don't matter. I am going to relish in the feeling, use it to propel me even further forward and drive me in my future goals.

Because there will be future goals. Now that I have found this process of working toward aims I am unwilling to let it go. Perhaps I should have listened to all those teachers that tried to ram goal setting down out throats in high school...

Pike River and the Media

My heart and my thoughts go out to the families and friends of those 31 miners who were unfortunate enough to be own the Pike River coal mine at the time of the explosion. Even more so to those of the 29 still inside. It is a terrible tragedy and a horrible loss and wish them all the best in the trying times that are no doubt ahead of them. I have no wishes to diminish or trivialise their pain, for it is very real and I understand that.

But, having said that, the media coverage of the entire event has my blood boiling every time it comes on the TV and radio. It started with the constant coverage of absolutely no news; it moved on to them terrorising grieving and worried families, dragging in any one that has even so much as looked sideways at the mine to get their opinions on the place, finding long lost relatives who have had nothing to do with those trapped for near on a decade and has now moved on the worst sin of all (at least in my book), blame casting.

Perhaps I feel it more keenly through family ties to the emergency services, or perhaps I am just more... logical or empathetic than the media, but what ever it is, it really annoys me when people become determine to place the blame for either natural, or undefined tragedies.

It is the first principle of an emergency that the rescuer must first mind for his or her own safety. I was taught that in primary school so it is not like it is a complex or new idea. It would do nobody any good if those that were sent to help got into trouble themselves. That was the principle that they used during the earthquake here a couple of months ago, and that is the principle that they used at the mine. With methane levels of 95% that hardly comes as a surprise.

And yet people still find it acceptable to claim that the rescue teams are not doing enough. They are doing all that they can and the police superintendent deserves praise for the work he is doing, not judgment and condemnation from an American nobody that is so far removed from the situation that they probably still thing that New Zealand is a part of Australia let alone the location of a small West Coast town such as Reefton.

I can understand that the families are worried and they want answers and their people back safe to them. Believe me, I understand that.

But the rescuers - they have families too. How is sending them to their deaths going to make anything better?

And how does the media storm always find the one disgruntled relative to talk to - or is it just that that is the only one that will ever talk to them. That's probably more like it.

So, just for the record, the rescuers are not to blame, the government is not to blame, the police are not to blame and neither is the CEO of the mine. The fault lies in an explosion with an unknown cause and the fault lies with the nature of coal. It is as simple as that - no matter how callous that sounds (that is not my intent) - nature is nature and no one person can change that.

So with that said, big hugs go out to not only the families of the miners but also the rescue crews and people working on the rescue, the remaining staff of Pike River and the police superintendent. You are all doing wonderfully given the situation and should be proud.

The Nay-Sayers on the other hand, should be ashamed of themselves.

Creature of Habit

Is it possible for dogs to have OCD? If it is I'm sure that my dog has it.

Among other things (don't even get me started on the ritualistic pee cycle that you could set a watch to, the 5pm spazz out, the need to drink in threes and the ever growing list of fears), Misha has a blanket that sits on the end of my bed that he likes to sleep on in the mornings. A purple polar-fleece thing that he claimed as his own at a very young age - not that I minded overly, it stops him from going on my sinful (both in feel and expense) sheets. So this blanket usually sits on the bottom corner of my bed, waiting patiently for him and that is where he likes it, with just the right about of nesting to it. But I was changing the sheets on my bed earlier and naturally, all the blankets where thrown on the floor temporarily. Misha, bless his little heart chose that moment to come and investigate only to find his precious on the floor and not in it accustomed spot.

Oh you should have seen his face. For something so small and furry it is definitely expressive. He looked at the blanket, honestly glared at me then looked between the blanket and the bed before attempting to move it himself. Bearing in mind here, that he is a 6 kilo Bichon-Pekingese cross, and the blanket is the size of a double bed... Needless to say, he didn't get far.

He continued tugging until I finished making up the bed and folded his blanket back in its corner. He has been sitting there ever since, watching me - and I just know he is thinking 'I'm not moving so you can't take my blanket away again.' But for the sake of clean sheets I guess I am willing to deal with his bed-hog tendencies.

The Ex Factor

You never forget your first. That is a well known adage. And it is true for the most part. The first of no matter what you are doing is a very special and important thing; your first birthday, first word, first steps, first day of school. Your first boyfriend, first kiss, first lover....

All of them become ingrained in memory - some in yours, some in your parents. But all of them shape who you are and who you become.

Generally though, such past firsts stay in just that very place - the past. Maybe that is easier in some aspects. We can glorify them, remembering only the good; the warmth of the feelings of being desired and loved, the intense new sensations of a first kiss rather than the inexperienced fumblings... And that past through rose coloured glass can be good - who wants to remember the bad any way.

But what of when the past doesn't stay in its correct place. What of an ex that you are still in contact with? Some relationships end amicably - I don't mean those ones. Where both parties have agree that they are better without each other than with then I see no reason why some form of friendship can't still be salvaged. No, I mean the average run of the mill break ups where one person decides to leave. What of when those ones still result in periodic communication. Even if it is just something as simple as the occasional 'hey how are ya?'

It is hard to glorify the good of past firsts when the pain of the resulting negatives still reappears from time to time.

There is and always will be that tiny thought that flits through the mind. That one teeny illogical 'what if' that the rest of the brain wants to ignore; wants to argue 'but we are over this and have been for a long time'. And any other day of the week, that larger logical part would win. Its no mistake that I am better of without that particular flavour of person in my life. But every now and then.....

I guess the only thing to do is shake it off. Kids and wives are hard accessories to ignore, but indifference toward the guy can work a treat.

Besides which, celebration is caused for. The end is in sight - I can see it. I'm down to four-digit numbers to reach the monthly word goal. Less than 8,000 and I would have reached 50K. It truly is a feeling that both makes larger and lightens the spirit. And yes, it could be argued that I am using writing as a substitute for all the things in my life at the moment that I cant control. But I am - so what? I am doing well and what harm can feeling good about myself do?

Ego Boosting

A little boost to the ego never killed anyone. The joy of being praised for a job well done can be a wonderful thing. Especially when it is rare.

I catered a lunch today. My first ever paid catering job. It was nothing fancy, but to greeted by praise and congratulation before the food had even been tasted... it was truly warming. Even more so when the taste matched the looks.

Growing up it seemed that praise was never offered. It may have been and I simply was blind to it, but to me it seemed like every time I achieved something it seemed to get glossed over. It appeared - to me - that family would take the attitude of "well that's great, but now you've done that whats next?" There was never any time to just bask in the glory and satisfaction of a job well done.

To have that gratification, especially from relative strangers... perhaps I feel it more keenly because I am denied it from other sources (or at least my mind is denied it if it is offered and I don't realise it).

Maybe that's why, externally at least, failure doesn't seem to bother me. Regardless of my outward expressions the reactions I receive are no different. Always being met with an eye to future and what else can be done does take some of the gloss off the present.

Hmm, something to ponder on later.

I did have to laugh though. I look like my mother - that is no lie. Two photos of us at the same age and you could easily think it was the same person. Personality wise though, we are opposites, we always have been. Yet people, I have noticed, seem to treat me like I have the same sensibilities. I am not a prude; never have been, never will be. I am nearing (rapidly, though I ignore it) 24, joking talk of sex and strange piercings and naked neighbours is hardly going to shock - especially since I know the conversations I myself have with friends. And yet, in the minds of others....

Ah well, they paid me. Who am I to judge.

With money in the purse, the ego healthily fed, writing goals being met and the heavy constant rain pounding and beating in rhythmic time on the porch roof outside my bedroom window I think I shall sleep well tonight.



Reverse Goal

It would be very easy to let myself become bogged down in the knowledge that others are succeeding in their careers. Especially in a job that I myself interviewed and trained for. It could be easy to say to myself that they are living the life that I should have had instead of being proud of them.

But I am not them. Even though me and Rachael (who from this points on wants to be known by a code name - lets see what she comes up with) have the same degree, I don't have her temperament. I know now that I couldn't succeed in the job that she has. It would slowly kill me. So even though she won the job at the end of the day, I can, with 100% sincerity say that I am proud of her achievements.

I may not know what I want to do with my life anymore (well, at least in the interim until I can achieve the scary super goal of being successfully published) I at least am starting to get an idea of what I don't want out of life. A little late, but that is better then never. After spending so many years doing the 'right' thing or the 'expected' thing I am finally doing attempting to do the right thing for me. Its not particularly easy, and I cop a lot of slack for it, but I'm sure it will be worth it in the end.

It has to be right?

One day I will be able to look back on this year and say that the struggles are what made me. I just have to keep looking forward.

Look forward, for example, to the lunch I have been asked to cater on Sunday. Very excited about it. Complete strangers asking for me - well my cupcakes, that just happened to morph into an entire meal. It is an honour to be sure that something that I make is received so well. I just hope that the rest of it goes well. I'm sure it will.

Taking Stubborn to the Next Level

There are times when it is not only pointless, but completely irrational to hold true to something. In this case, it is my dogged quest not to read the Harry Potter novels. I read half of the first one when I was in high school - everyone else was going gaga over them but I just couldn't get into them. Now the whole thing is spiralled out of control to just being out of principle. I haven't read them because everyone else has.

Stupid I know.

Especially since I have seen all the movies, including Deathly Hallows Pt 1, which I just saw tonight. Its not too bad - and for a two and a half hour movie at least it doesn't feel four, which is more than can be said for a lot of long movies....but I digress.

I refuse to attempt to read the books again and yet I will willing see the movies. Sure I had to be physically dragged to see the earlier ones, but I walk freely into them now. Though, as we were walking out I was asked what it would take for me to try reading the books again. Slow painful illness was the general opinion.

My logic baffles even myself.

So a watchable movie with good company rounded out an alright day. So I didn't get the job I interviewed for yesterday (at least I'm going with I didn't since I didn't hear anything and the training would start in about... 10 hours) But I did get another chapter of Revelations written. That means that 30 of the roughly 39 chapters are finished and pushes the word count for the month over 35k.

Focus on what is achieved not what is lost.

See, I am trying.

Just not trying enough to drive me to read Harry Potter. I like my stubbornness. It has served me well.

Chances are that it will be stubbornness that gets me to sleep tonight. Ever since the earthquake the people that have take up residence in the tent down the street have decided that four day parties are the way to get through their pain of loss. I don't begrudge anyone their fun - and I defiantly don't judge them for loud and eclectic tastes in music, doing so would be hypocritical. But as much as I love cheesy early 90's pop (which is roughly as much as the next person) being jolted awake by a sudden burst of MC Hammer at 5 in the morning does take some of the gloss off a catchy tune.

As does a rousing drunken chorus of The Cranberries.

But then I guess it is not like I actually have to get up with a purpose first thing in the morning.Though, that said, writing does tend to flow better when I'm not tired. Plus, we never know what tomorrow might bring - for all that we know it will require full capacity.

Half Way Point

Day fifteen of NaNoWriMo today. All things considered I am doing well. I am yet to drop below the recommended total, sitting just over 29K... but the words are starting to dry up. Other things are starting to become more interesting or more important and I can feel the pangs of procrastination kicking in once more.

But then that is the point isn't it? To build discipline.

Any skill is going to have good days and bad days. The bad ones just have to be worked through. But that knowledge doesn't make the task any easier.

It's funny, since I started this whole have daily goals thing my sense of achievement has become more acute. If my goals for the day don't get reached, I feel like I have let someone down. And I suppose I am - me. So as a result, today, with one hour forty minutes left of the day and the writing goal not met, I am disappointed. It doesn't matter that the hair finally got cut, that I relocated the really good hairdresser, that I organised a job interview for Wednesday or that I made up twenty six owls for Mums fair stall, caught up with Dad (probably should have done that sooner since he was made redundant two weeks ago and I never knew)...

Somehow I need to find some form of equilibrium for my thinking.

Maybe its the aftershocks of the last couple of days messing with me. Though it seems slightly unfair to blame everything on the earth.

Oh well, tomorrow is another day after all. Perhaps my words will come back with a little sleep.

The Eyes are Everywhere

It is safe to say that I am never going to be cut out to have domestic staff.

People are here today (as the first day) to clear out the garden. I will admit that the yard was horribly neglected and badly in need of doing. That someone else is willing to do it (for a small fee of course) is greatly appreciated. They are out there industriously pulling and cutting and mowing busy as little Pacific beavers, and I am sure that they are far too involved in their tasks to be paying any attention to me and yet somehow...

The paranoia of the mind is a fantastic thing. In the mind they cast judging eyes towards the house, tracking every move that is made within. Waiting, watching, laughing amongst themselves about the fools that cant even figure out how to pull weeds. Biding their time until they can seize a moment to enter the dwelling to steal belongings and take my life -

Okay, now that I've typed that out I realise that it is entirely possible that I watch far too many late night horror movies. That and I am obviously letting what I am writing get to me more than I had thought I was. Fictional characters are good like that.

I'm sure the gardeners are very nice people. They seemed friendly enough when they cut down the trees earlier in the year, but to be on the safe side perhaps I will endeavor to be out when they return tomorrow. I'm sure that there are errands that need doing, and if there is not - well writing alfresco couldn't hurt could it. In fact it might even help break the teeny tiny bit of block that seems to have crept in today. Tomorrow marks the half way mark of November after all. Luckily I am already past the halfway mark of the 50K goal, but I can feel my lead slipping away by the hour.

Well, perhaps not by the hour, that could be exaggerating a little bit. And contrary to what today's poorly formed words are spelling out, I am not an obsessive paranoid weirdo.

Weird yes, weirdo no.

The Cat Lady

I nearly got a kitten today. I was the cutest little thing I have seen in a long time. Tiny and frail; grey and white with glacial blue eyes and a calm disposition.

If I was a more spontaneous person I would have claimed the infant she-cat as my own. But alas I am not and so now I must mourn the loss of what never was. There were be other kittens though, I am sure. They are always saying that they struggle to find homes for them all.

But as I berated my self for my unusually slow thinking I was warned that owning such a pet would be the first step in becoming an infamous cat lady. And that was clearly something that nobody wanted. Someone destine to be alone and surrounded by furred companions because those of the two legged varied steer away.

What I don't understand though, is how can the ownership of one cute little innocent being be the cause for eternal loneliness. If I bought home another puppy - a creature that generally demands far more attention than a cat - I wouldn't be marching on the path to spinsterhood.

Perhaps it was just that he is not a cat person himself. Perhaps he just doesn't understand, what with being a hermit and all.

An animal cant control the future of a person. A person struggles to control their own future more often than not so passing the blame on to a fur ball that could fit in the palm of my hand seems excessive.

No, one kitten wouldn't make me a cat lady. If I shut my self off from the world and only paid attention to the cat and not to the people that I see day by day and call family and friend - then I probably would be. But I don't see that happening. I like people too much.

There will be other kittens. Just as there will be other puppies and other fish. Especially know that I have worked through the fear I held within for so long when it can to domestic companions. And no matter what pets accumulate through my time, they will hold no sway as to the outcomes of my life. Animals are companions not dictators. Something that should be kept in mind. 

Sunny Days Part II

I had thought yesterday that the sunny automatically negated negative moods. That could have been over simplifying a point. Things can get to you, especially when someone (such as a parent) who is suppose to be unconditionally supportive adds to the already existent feelings of worthlessness. I am usually a fairly confident and self assured person, but after a year of job searching and constant rejection even the strongest of minds start to wear down.

Criticism isn't as easy to just let slide anymore -especially from someone so close; someone close enough to know better.

But then again I guess that knowing me isn't and hasn't ever been my families strong suit. Stranger that happen to share a group of genes. I have always been of the opinion that we all have two families - the one that we are born into and the one that we surround ourselves with voluntarily. I am just lucky that my chosen one understands me in ways that my birth one couldn't even begin to comprehend.

They defiantly understand the need for retail therapy. Even on a beautiful sunny day.

They also understand the rarity of me buying a dress - a dress!! To not only buy a dress but to be excited about such a thing. And I don't care what anyone says - just because it is a summer dress doesn't mean that black is a bad colour for it. I like black and black likes me - that is not a crime. Not everyone can suit colour after all. It would be boring if we all wore the same anyway.

Sunny Days

It is utterly impossible to be in a bad mood on a sunny day - at least I think it is. It doesn't matter if your seat is kicked on the bus constantly, or your mp3 player battery dies while still in transit, or you work into a door and bruise your arm.... you get the point...

It doesn't matter what all goes wrong, when the temperatures are high and sky is clear, it is very difficult to work up enough energy to be upset. It is easy to see hope and brightness in the days ahead - the hypothetical light at the end of a long metaphorical tunnel.

This coming summer will be a good thing I think. It has been a dark year; a long year with very little worth celebrating. But it is November now - nearly half way through. The year is nearly over, the summer only 19 days away - my 24th birthday only a month off, and the thought of that is somewhat... lightning. Freeing. I know as we get older - women especially it seems - tend to shy away from birthdays, using it as a milestone for time lost and things not done. But somehow, this year at least, the annual turnover can only be seen as fresh start and a new beginning. It is time to was away the bad things that have happened (not forget about them though, because it through our trials that we grow) and create the future that I want. It is not as simple as that, I know, but nothing worth doing is every easy.

Cliches are cliches for a reason.

There are exactly 31 days until my birthday, so between now and then I will plan. And that will be my fresh start. My 24th year will be my new start.

Plans it seem agree with me after all - for the second week of NaNoWriMo I have met my weekly goal with days to spare. 23,000 words and counting. I applaud all the people that have the ability and have already cracked the magical 50K mark -  they more than deserve the praise. But small and steady, achievable daily and weekly goals seems to be working - working enough that I hope I can continue it other aspects of my life - so why should I rock the boat. If I think too hard about what the others are doing I will only get discouraged.

Competition is powerful tool - but it can also be a dangerous weapon.

Crayola Magic

When, and why, do we become too old for crayons? I had forgotten entirely how much fun those little wax sticks could be until I was using them earlier today. We seem to hit a certain point in childhood - who knows how this point is chosen -but we reach this magical point and all of a sudden crayons become 'uncool' and for 'babies'. We move onto bigger and better things such as felt tips and coloured pencils and for some strange reason we don't really look back.

But we should!

I am officially reinstating them in my life - they are far too enjoyable not too. I'm not quite sure yet in what capacity they will be, but mark my words they will make a comeback.

Blogging

I was watching Julie & Julia today and it got me thinking about blogging. It is a strange world in which we live - traditionally diaries and journals have been private affairs; a place where secret thoughts can roam free and safe without censor of judgment. Later they could have been published - if the writer was particularly important or interesting - but that would be long after the events had passed into nothing but fading memories.

Now we type our journals into blogs and allow the world at large to view them. There is the potential there that hundreds of perfect strangers from multiple countries to read and interpret and judge our thought and actions.

The gap between the two mediums is quite large. But that seems to be the world that we live in now; a world with less privacy. Long gone are the days with multiple large families all squashed into a small house and so perhaps it is merely compensating for that. Or maybe not. There are so many other factors at play as well. Globalisation causing the world to be smaller, technological advances that allow us to do more, social networking that lets us reach out and touch hundreds if not thousands of people...

And it is not a bad thing, not entirely I don't think. As much as I have never subscribed to the whole Facebook revolution, I can defiantly see the advantages to a closer, more open world. The words of the every day person can now be heard - and as every one knows, words can be incredibly powerful.

The pen is mightier than the sword...

And speaking of pens and words - end of week one of November, and consequently of NaNoWriMo, and I am doing well. Structure and discipline seem to be working for me. One story arc is rounding out nicely and leaning towards overriding themes and titles are getting refined... I am feeling good about it - even though it is becoming somewhat of an obsession (and it defiantly is - I feel as though I should be constantly apologising to those that have to put up with me), obsession can sometimes provide a return - if nothing else than the satisfaction of completion. Obviously I hope that it will prove to be something more than just the satisfaction of completion - a dream career would be amazing - but a dream is never achieved over night.

Guy Fawkes

"Remember, remember the Fifth of November,/The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,/I know of no reason/Why the Gunpowder Treason/Should ever be forgot..."

It seems like this time of year is full of celebrations that have lost all relevance to their original purpose. Halloween was the first, and now Guy Fawkes... a night now devoid of all ideals and meanings - an excuse to spend hundreds of dollars so that an hour can be spent in the cold blowing things up and injuring the local populous. I can see slightly more point in the free city provided shows - the displays are far more impressive that anything that can be bought by the public. But even then there is very little to differentiate the fire work shows of November and the firework shows of New Years Eve.

Next will come Christmas and all the associated commercialism that comes with it. The buy buy buy mentality and endless impossible search for the perfect gift mixing with the stresses of providing the meal to end all meals and the ques and the crowds... its hardly surprising that both suicide and domestic violence rates increase in December. The 'season to be jolly' is now so full of stress and pressure that the family we should be embracing drives us loco.

But I guess loss of tradition is the price we pay for advancement. Or maybe it is that this country is still so young. We have kept the customs that the settlers brought with them, but unlike the people that held them dear, they have no relevance to the new nation. It never used to worry me but I catch myself thinking about it more and more. Maybe I just have too much time.

Besides, I should look on the bright side: The meaning of such holidays may be lost to most, but some still remember - things are not lost for good. The dog is, despite his current nervous state (still not recovered quite from the constant shifting of the earth), is blessedly unaware - or unconcerned - with the bright shiny explosions on the other side of the window. And I have reached this weeks writing goal two days early placing me ahead of schedule.

Its not all bad after all.

 

"...Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent/To blow up the King and Parli'ment./Three-score barrels of powder below/To prove old England's overthrow;/By God's providence he was catch'd/With a dark lantern and burning match./Holla boys, Holla boys, let the bells ring./Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!/And what should we do with him? Burn him!"

 

2 Down, 28 To Go

Day two of NaNoWroMo 2010 and all goes well. It is amazing what a good system of organised plotting and logging can do. Motivation is all laid out before you.

Last year I tried to fumble my way through the process - I was cocky. I had a good idea so how hard could 50,000 words be really? Turns out more so that one might think. It's not a matter of writing bits here and there and hoping for the best. You need goals and motives and schedules...

I have that this year. I have a log spreadsheet with my daily goals and daily word count. I have my plot mapped out, I have my characters bio'd and new worlds created...

And as a result I have over 8,000 words towards my finished product. Well, maybe not finished product- but a finished rough draft at the very least. I know that there are people that can write while flying from the seat of their pants, but this seems to be working for me.

At least so far - two days is hardly the basis for conclusive evidence. But I have a good feeling about this. It would be nice if I could have the same kind of confidence about the other aspects in my life, but of this - this little thing - I have control. I am in control and I can direct success.

In this one thing at least.