January 3, 2016
The Earth has circled the sun once more. Congratulations: if you’re reading this you survived the trip.
A traditional post-New Year’s Day activity is the listing of resolutions, followed by the traditional failure to adhere to the resolutions. I’m bypassing that tradition like it was a steaming pile of dog poop on the sidewalk. Instead I’m limiting myself to some writerly aspirations for the year. There’s a difference, really.
First: find a home for Thick as Thieves. I think with a spitshine and a fresh haircut, the book is ready to meet the public. Or at least the publisher.
Second: finish Boss by — oh, let’s say the third quarter of the year. I’m having fun with this one, but it isn’t coming along as rapidly as I’d like. I suppose I should resolve to make more time to write every day, but resolutions will always lose the cage match against a two-year old. If she’s here and I’m here, doesn’t that make it her time? Yes, yes it does.
Third: plot the sequel to Boss and finish 10-15% of the first draft by the end of the year.
Plausible and practicable. That’s how I like my aspirations. Reach for the stars, but start with the nearest.
Happy New Year.