Writing Resolutions

I stopped making the obligatory New Year’s resolutions many moons ago. It’s like I tell my four-year-old when she’s pressing me to “cross my heart” about something: Don’t promise. Just say “I will,” “I won’t,” or “I’ll try.” I always felt that life’s disappointments were much easier to accept if there wasn’t the added sting of a broken promise. The same holds true for promises I make to myself. Like everyone, I’m made up of good and bad personality traits, and one of my rotten ones is a strong tendency to procrastinate. I procrastinate about doing the stuff almost nobody likes to do (taxes and root canals), as well as about the stuff I love to do (blog and work on my kids’ scrapbooks). Who knows why? I’m done with making a promise to myself, breaking it, and hating myself for it. Now I accept the fact that despite my best intentions, I’m a chronic procrastinator and it hinders me from keeping most specific resolutions. I tolerate the irritation I feel when I can’t get something done, and relish the moments when I shun the “I’ll do it later” mentality and accomplish, like normal people. I have noticed that there is one area in which I have consistently pushed through my put-it-off nature and achieved my small goals: Writing. At the risk of jinxing myself, I think that this year’s writing goals will be named “Resolutions” in my mind. Here’s my short list:

1. Write Ever Day. This seems too obvious to make the list, but if you’re a mother of small children, you know finding time to write can be a daunting task. If you are a procrastinating mother of small children then you know it’s almost impossible. Almost. I’m not like all those admirable (and successful) writers you read about who wrote their best-sellers in a busy coffee shop on their lunch breaks, or like Stephen King who says he likes to write with rock music blasting. I like busy coffee shops and I like blasting rock music, but when I’m writing I need quiet. I also need a space devoted just to the task of writing—somewhere away from the fridge and the laundry and the TV. I now have a quiet space to write, thanks to my near-perfect, always supportive husband’s quick thinking. We have a three-family house with a vacant apartment on the second floor. Suddenly, the burden of not having the apartment rented has become a blessing. I can sit up here with the snow collecting on the bare branches scraping the window and the kettle whistling in the empty kitchen and just write. I have a good baby monitor that I can turn on. Or not.

2. Complete the final draft of my mid-grade novel. This is so achievable, it scares me. I wrote the first draft of my novel Miranda Murray, Carny Kid two years ago in the span of one month. I did this by completing a chapter every two days—one day of “writing like hell without looking back”, a second day for revisions. When it was done I read it over, created a chapter outline that I posted on the wall where I could see it as I worked, and began the process over again. This time I aimed for a chapter a week. I wrote the chapters, sometimes transferring chunks of the rough draft intact, other times completely re-working the original plot. One of the most beneficial things I did at this time was to join a critique group called New York Writers. We met at different locales in Manhattan bi-weekly and reviewed each other’s work. Most of the others were working on short stories, and I submitted the chapters of my manuscripts. Their suggestions were invaluable, and I hope that my schedule permits me to meet with them again one of these days. Regular life intruded upon my writing life for awhile in the form of returning to school and having a third baby. I recently hauled out my files and took stock of where I am in the process of writing this book. I have five polished chapters and twelve to go. I want to complete the manuscript in time for the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators annual Winter Conference in New York on January 29-31. This means that I have to hustle like it’s 1977.

3. Attend the annual SCBWI Winter Conference. For years I read about the seasonal conferences for SCBWI and thought of how great it would be to attend. Since I lived in San Francisco and the conferences are held in New York and Los Angeles, it seemed financially out of range. To go would have meant registration fees of at least $350, plus airfare, transportation and hotel. Now that we live twelve miles west of Manhattan, all I have to come up with is registration. To make matters better, a weekend train between my town and New York was added in November, which means I can spend all day rubbing elbows with fellow authors, agents, and publishers, and be back home in Jersey in time to make dinner!

4. Get an Agent. I’m hoping this will happen at the conference, but if not, I plan to start a major query campaign as soon as I’m home.

I once saw a book in Barnes and Noble called Stop Procrastinating Now! I remember laughing because my mind formed a mental picture of all the well-meaning souls who bought that book, took it home, put it on their bookshelf where it languished unopened for years before winding up on a yard sale table. We procrastinators want to change, honest we do. Here’s to a new year, and a new set of writing goals that I will achieve. I’m crossing my fingers, not my heart.

- Tiff