Resolutions*

Okay, it's official. I've decided ix-nay on the esolutions-ray. Don't get me wrong, folks--I gave it the old college try. Thanks to Microsoft word and nimble typing fingers, making the list was pretty damn easy.

Sigh.

We all know execution is another matter.

I found my list was so long, it immobilized me. Overwhelmed me. Scared me sh*tless. I mean, when I got to page two, my hands started shaking.

Besides. Somewhere (not here) I posted some writing goals (AKA resolutions) for last year, and guess what? I didn't come CLOSE to achieving the ones I articulated, but I reached ones I didn't even know I had!

So much for writing goals.

Okay, if I must confess, here it is: I committed to completing the untitled WIP (I SWEAR, that's the title I'm gonna use since nothing else is popping to mind) by the end of March. Only, guess what? The sucker's still not finished. On the other hand, I wrote 13 short stories for True Romance--and they weren't even on the agenda, so go figure.

And as long as we're laying cards on the table, let's just say the personal goals for this year outnumber the writing ones. By A LOT.

Talk about even MORE daunting.

I heard one of those media shrinks claim that adopting a new habit takes three weeks and incorporating it into your lifestyle another six months.

To hell with that. I say let's call a moratorium on resolutions altogether.

*better known as: Ways to Torture Yourself With Feelings Of Self-Induced Inadequacy