Not at all. You see the thing about the writing...(now I know I'm definitely heading towards my years of twilight delight - I've started to refer to things as "the" - the Lidl, the writing, the drink, the old head... - it shall be henceforth known as the "the" of middle age. Not that I mind stepping into middle age...better than the alternative isn't it? Six foot under and everyone whispering that you were great to keep going as long as you did but you can't hear them because your ear drums are full of clay or alternatively you're celestially strung out on a higher plane...whatever's in store. No, I'm nurturing my grey and look forward to being the kind of old lady that no one would ever ask to keep an eye on their children. And no cats, no. And I'll not be wearing purple and eating as many sausages as I like... oh please, how liberating is that!? I'm sorry but I'd like a bit more anarchy with my arthritis than sausage meat.
...I've gone off point. New years resolutions, I feel a bit antagonistic towards this coming new year, not in a bad way, in a fairly good humoured way...(I think negative emotions get far too much bad press. What's so wrong with not being buzzy?) but yes, I suppose I might be channeling a touch of Eeyore!
For the last few years on every New Years Eve I've been ordering myself to -
complete x amount of hours writing, per day, per week / to finish x story by 30th of the month/ to finish the novel within another 6 weeks...but this year I'm giving myself a break . So...
- not write any do to lists.
- not have any writing goals
- gorge on language and not be disciplined