I had lunch yesterday with a dear friend I hadn't seen for a long while. "Where was your new year's blog post?" she asked. "I was so looking forward to being inspired by it!"
Well, that was sweet to hear, of course, as well as guilt-inducing. But as the years go by, I have to confess that with each January 1, I feel I'm just making the same plans and setting the same goals I've done dozens of times before, blah, blah, blah, yeah, yeah, yeah, let's see if I actually do them this time. And yet... there is still something about the new year that gives me a tingle of anticipation, that tiny thrill that comes with a blank canvas, an open calendar, twelve months to fill with whatever I most want to fill them with.
So . . .
I'm starting to feel I really am done with trying to coax the universe to shower me with its fickle, faddish fame and fortune, with shiny gold stickers on the covers of my books, with tiny tidbits of glory I can brag about on social media. I'm still not done with WANTING these, but I HAVE to be done with breaking my heart over not getting them. This year, I really DO have to write just for the joy of it. And writing still gives me so much joy!
There are few things I love more than to slip out of bed very early, tiptoe upstairs to my writing nook, with my hot chocolate or tea, and write for a blissful hour measured by my treasured hourglass.
I still want to write books for middle-grade readers, and I'm back on track writing the book for which I lost those fifty pages of notes on the plane in December. I thought maybe this was the universe's way of telling me to start the whole thing over again, but I am slowly rereading the 65 typed pages I already have of it, and have decided that whatever the universe thinks, I love this book, I do! And I want to keep going on it. So there, universe!
But this year I want to write lots of other things, too. I want to write poems for my sweetheart, David, to copy into the special book I created for his birthday three years ago. Many pages remain to be filled.
No other audience anywhere, ever, will love what I write more than he loves my poems.
It's a tradition at my church that I deliver the sermon and preside over worship on the last Sunday of the year. I did that this past December, too, and they loved it as they always do, loving people that they are. I LOVE writing for people who love ME!
But I want to try writing some new and different kinds of things, too. I've always wanted to write (and yes, publish) personal essays. Now's the time to do that! There is a picture book I want to write with my younger son's bride-to-be. Now's the time to do that, too. At the least, it will be a way of deepening my already delightful connection with her. Could I try writing a play? I have an older friend who just wrote a play for the play-reading group at her retirement community, What fun it was to go there and see it performed by her friends and neighbors. I bet I could round up a group of friends who would have a blast reading a play of mine.
So, my ONLY goal for 2025 (well, except for being serious about using the waterpik with new faithfulness for my poor gums) is to stuff my creative life as full as I can of joy and play. I'm going to have FUN writing this year. Maybe I'll take myself to some delicious writing retreat somewhere. Or two or three! I'm certainly going to spend as many sweet hours in my writing nook as I can - this will be The Year of the Nook! I'm going to write with friends; I'm now in TWO groups of writers who are committed to a communal writing date each month. I'm going to EAT NICE THINGS while I write. Maybe apple turnovers? I do love apple turnovers...
Universe, are you listening? Whatever you decide my fate as a writer should be, I'm deciding my fate should be to give myself the gift of writing this year in the spirit of creative play, just for the joy of it.
