My big one this year was to write two thousand words a day. Okay, one thousand. Then family matters caused me to skip a day. I promised myself to get back to my work in progress the next morning. Right? Right.
Um, not so fast.
Good. I was on a roll.
Uh, oh. I forgot about the critique. My critique partner and I rarely miss our twenty pages, give or take, every two weeks. I wasn’t ready. Now, where was I? Because, you know, with all the family matters, house cleaning, and visitors, I had no time to think about where my characters are, let alone where they’re going.
Then my son called and asked if I would help out with the grandbaby for a few days while he and his wife go out of town? Oh, and the three dogs, four counting mine. Sure, happy to, son. Maybe, just maybe, I thought, I could get something done when the angel was sleeping. Did I mention the sweet thing, not even two, naps for about ten minutes, and that’s on a good day? I’d write after she has her bath and goes to bed for the night. She’s finally sleeping through, mostly. I opened my computer in the silence of the house—no Mickey Mouse or Curious George or Nick Jr—and started to work.
Wait! What? How could I have fallen asleep? I was determined to write my pages. They’ll have to wait until tomorrow.
A day later: I’ve given up on writing. Angel is too much fun, and I don’t want to miss this precious time. I’ll write when I get home.
Back home at my desk, I’m determined to get my thousand words in. Darn, I forgot about the blog post I need to write for The Blood Red Pencil. Better get that out of the way or it will weigh on my mind.
Lunch with my writing friends. We don’t do it often, but it’s a whole day’s worth because four of us are in South Carolina, another is in Georgia. We met halfway.
Now it’s Laundry Day, I tweeted to my Twitter friends in between, then walked my dog, Bogie. I realized he stinks. Better wash him. He’s matted, and I needed to get those uglies out. I have a podcast with another writer next week. Have no idea what he’ll ask me. I hope he doesn’t ask me about New Year’s resolutions.
I’ve decided I’m not going to make New Year’s resolutions anymore. I’m just not disciplined enough to keep them, and it’s a sure route to failure. Instead, I’ll sit down and write what I can each day, “each day” being the operative words. I might write fifty words, I might write three thousand, depending on the fluidity of both my mind and the story. But I will write something, and that’s the important thing.
Meanwhile, my alter ego―she writes erotic romance―just got back the rights to her last sexy novel. I redid the cover, changed a few things in the edit, and now it’s up and ready.
Maybe I’m not such a failure after all.
Polly Iyer is the author of seven novels: standalones Hooked, InSight, Murder Déjà Vu, Threads, and three books in the Diana Racine Psychic Suspense series, Mind Games, Goddess of the Moon, and Backlash. A Massachusetts native, she makes her home in the beautiful Piedmont region of South Carolina. You can visit her website for more on Polly and connect with her on Facebook and Twitter.