This will be a rambling post. I do that sometimes. I mean to write one thing and quickly wander into completely different territory. Thinking out loud on paper, saying something to figure out what I’m trying to say. You’ve been warned.

This started as a post about continuous learning in the writing world and how it should be fun and how it may manifest in various ways at different points in our creative journeys.

I like learning new stuff, especially when it comes to my writing. I love craft books. I follow about 20 blogs that post writing advice and have an insanely well-organized bookmark system for saving the good articles. I can spend hours researching story details, and have learned to be wary of the wiki-hole.

I have always approached my writing as a discovery practice. When I was young, I wrote as a way of imagining solutions to questions I couldn’t answer. When I was older, I wrote to figure out if I had anything worth saying. Now that I have some idea, I want to discover the best way to express myself. Over the years, I’ve also played with form, writing short stories, novels, graphic novel scripts, plays, and poetry. While some of the skills overlap and some lessons learned in one form can be applied to the others, each has its own dialect that needs to be investigated and mastered (or mastered-ish, as the case may be). While I bring some skills to the table, I struggle with others, and I know that every story is going to present its own challenges.

This mindset has its drawbacks. I find it hard to feel like a project is finished, because I know there’s more I can do to perfect it. I’m a jack of many writing forms, but master of none. I don’t write in a set genre, which makes it difficult to answer the question “what do you write?” or even “who are you?”

That may be a deeper inquiry for another day. But I know I’ll never be the writer who finishes a novel on Friday, proofreads over the weekend, and uploads to Amazon on Monday. I don’t want to be the writer who gets miffed when beta readers run the red pen over my manuscript. And I never want to find myself writing the same thing over and over.

I like the stretch. I like playing in different sandboxes. I enjoy the challenges. I’m not afraid of doing the work. It’s fun. Unlike Dorothy Parker, I love writing, and am indifferent to having written. I’m weird.

Do you love learning new skills, craft techniques, factoids? I’m honestly curious, though I’m already betting you do.

But also, I wonder about those who don’t, the writers who skip peer feedback and proper editors and multiple drafts, the writers who do indeed type “the end” to a novel one Friday and are published by the next.

There’s something to be said for the “write and be done” approach, but must it come at the expense of writing your best? Don’t you want to know if the middle of your novel falters or if your dialogue is bland or if you’ve written essentially the same novel multiple times? Is it worth it to cram 25 books on your Amazon profile over the course of a few years (and in some cases, less)?

On the one hand, I admire anyone who doesn’t give a fuck what other people think. This is an important life skill. On the other, I’m bewildered (appalled?) by creative people who appear to give so little thought to the excellence – or lack thereof – of their work.

There is the Dunning-Kruger effect, of course. And some people are just that lazy. If you’ve spent any amount of time scrolling social media forums for writers, you’ve encountered the lazy ones. They’re easy to spot. I’d like to say they’re the minority, but some days, I’m not so sure. For sanity’s sake, let’s agree they are the minority. Loud, but a minority.

So what is it? As I ponder and ramble, I keep circling back to the skill – the confidence – of not caring what other people think. It’s attractive.

But also, I think it’s a trauma response.

A lot of us grew up with criticism and bullying, and so even gentle and honest feedback can feel hurtful. At our best, we grow out of it and learn to find the balance between healthy self-acceptance and a desire to grow and excel. But sometimes we fall short and a mild comment may feel like a personal attack. We have to tune it out or we drown. Call it the fight, flight, or freeze out instinct.

I’ve talked to plenty of writers who were not encouraged to be creative or were even shamed for being unrealistic, unserious, or unworthy. I know people who were talked out of pursuing a creative occupation or passion, because there wouldn’t be any money in it or because they were foolish to believe they were good enough or because the very concept of being creative was too stupid to take seriously, as though they proposed a career as flag pole sitter.

In my case, when not outright ignored, I was told that writing is a lonely life, that the books and writers I liked were garbage, and that if I was serious about writing, I should volunteer to type up the church bulletin every week. On a scale of Useless to Hurtful, I’d place that latter advice somewhere between “Are you being stupid on purpose?” and “Please kill me now.” Even my English professors didn’t know what to say about a career in writing, except that I should consider teaching. In those days, all the writers we studied were dead, so perhaps they believed we were no longer making new ones.

So it happens. A lot. No wonder some of us press the publish button the moment we finish. If we don’t, we might talk ourselves out of it completely. Publish and be damned indeed.

And even under the best circumstances, critical feedback is tough. When we’re already dealing with a group of judgy voices in our heads, criticism can hit like a moral judgment, and suddenly a few paragraphs reflect poorly on our status as writers, or even on our worth as people.

A real writer wouldn’t have made that mistake. A normal person wouldn’t have written that. An intelligent person wouldn’t have wasted their time. Who are we trying to kid?

I had – have – a difficult time overcoming this emotional hurdle. I put a lot of myself into my fiction. Most of my characters have at least a little bit of my history, opinions, observations, and sense of humor. Even when my characters are my polar opposites, my story choices, theme, and genre express a point of view. At heart, the simple phrase “I believe this story is worth telling” is a damn bold artistic statement. So, if my writing is me and my writing is shit, it logically follows that I am shit.

So rather than laziness, maybe the resistance to feedback arises from the receipt of too much criticism. Being open to learning (revising, editing) may feel like admitting defeat so instead we stand up for ourselves. We scream into the ether: “I did this because I wanted to and I’m proud of it and I don’t care what you think about it.”

I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in this. Let’s make a pact to stop doing this to ourselves.

All love to Anne Lamott, but let’s start by discarding the term “shitty first draft.” It’s amusingly blunt, but perhaps no longer helpful. Instead, let me suggest discovery draft or brainstorming draft. I call my first drafts the “barf draft” but I don’t mean that pejoratively. The barf draft gets everything out of my head and onto the page. It may be messy but it’s colorful and it gives me a good look at what I’m digesting. Most of it will be cleaned up, and this is where the analogy breaks down so I’ll stop.

When you request feedback on a piece of writing, don’t joke that it sucks or preemptively explain what’s wrong with it. A great practice is to go in with questions. Did the dialogue sound true? Was that joke funny or did it sound mean? Is the protagonist as sympathetic on paper as he is in my head? How would you describe the theme? Bringing your own questions guides your beta reader to where you need their focus and can make critiques easier to swallow, even when someone points out a flaw you didn’t anticipate.

When you approach feedback and discussion from a place of curiosity and learning, you can dull feelings of inadequacy and instead come into the critique with the humble admission that you simply don’t know everything there is to know, even about your own story. When you hit a rough patch in your novel or don’t know where to go next, ask yourself what you need to learn and then go learn it.

As writers, let’s revel in the fun of exploration, of learning, developing our skills, deepening our insights, and putting the best parts of ourselves out into the world. Let’s agree that feedback is awesome. It’s a gift of someone’s time and we should embrace it when we’re lucky enough to receive it.

This is a mindset shift. It takes practice. I still have a hard time with imposter syndrome, so I’m in the arena with you. I want very badly not to suck. The world teaches us that learning is boring and imperfection is something to be ashamed of and that personal taste should be crowd-approved. It can be difficult to unlearn that. But if we can adopt this viewpoint, we become more open to the lessons that writing – and life – can teach us.

In the end, learning should be a joyful thing and if I wish anything for my writer friends this year, it’s that you find all the joy you can in writing.

Even if you publish your novel without asking for feedback.

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This is what a book series is supposed to look like.

This is what a book series is supposed to look like.

And these.

This is NOT what a book series is supposed to look like.

_______

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Taking a creative leap of faith and showing up for yourself and your work are much easier if you love what you do.

It seems that for every writer who loves writing – the process of writing, not simply holding a book in their hands – there is another who does it only begrudgingly. They gripe about the time commitment or proofreading or having to work through a scene when they’re not sure what should happen next. Like Barbie working out an algebra problem, they think writing is haaaaaarrrrd.

This is not unlike how many people feel about relationships. All that communicating and compromise and feelings? Yuck! Sure, Valentine’s Day is great – photo ops! – but then you have to slog through the next 364 days til it comes round again.

Are you a writer who believes writing is a grind? Do you often paraphrase Hemingway’s quote about opening a vein and bleeding onto the paper? Do you relate to Dorothy Parker’s lament that she hated writing, but loved having written?

Maybe – just maybe – you should take an opposite approach to your writing for a bit. Remind yourself that you don’t have to write today; you get to write today. Enjoy the challenge of figuring out what happens next. Marvel at the cornucopia choices you get to make – from subject to theme to character to setting – to make this quilt. Get excited about entertaining someone or sharing what you know. Embrace your creativity as joyous, fulfilling, and fun.

Don’t pour out blood onto the paper, pour out love.

Now, it’s axiomatic that love hurts. Opening yourself to the possibility of loving anything comes with the very real likelihood that your love will be rejected or will someday end. It might feel easier to shut yourself off from the possibility, but on the other hands, the rewards are unimaginable.

Love is liberating. Love creates joyous experiences and creates wonderful memories. And what is writing but an expression of love?

You must love other people enough to listen to, observe, and learn about the human condition, and the world enough to notice its beauty and the emotional resonance that differs from place to place. You must love your characters enough to portray them vividly, in all their complexity. You must love your stories enough to want to share them. You must love yourself enough to commit to your creative practice, set aside the time, and continue even when the work is hard.

Of course, we won’t love everything, every day. But without love of some kind, your writing will feel flat, unalive.

Today, take a few minutes to fall in love. If you need a prompt, pick something you already love and commit it to memory. Choose anything – a person, a piece of art, a kind of food or material, a place, a plant or animal, or a sensory experience. Describe your choice in detail. Examine why you love it. Consider what memories and emotions it evokes.

Love something and remember this feeling the next time you sit down to write.

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Here are two things I know about showing up.

If you missed my last 2 posts, I talked about taking the next steps in your creative journey and that moving forward requires action that is simple and yet not easy. I referred to it as showing up – showing up at writing events and meetup opportunities, showing up at your desk to write, showing up for yourself.

For some of us, this requires a big leap of faith, which is harder than it looks. It’s easy to look confident online, because we are sharing less than 1% of what’s really going on in our lives. But there’s a reason that every decent writing blog has a regular cycle of posts about imposter syndrome, overcoming doubt, building confidence, dealing with setbacks, and working through our blackest moods.

We’re a sensitive lot.

And sensitive people tend to get hurt and hurt people throw up barriers. These barriers keep us from fully connecting to our creativity and our community. We hold back opinions or ideas in our writing. We don’t make the time commitment necessary. We hesitate to take the next step in our career. If you’re like me, you may even feel foolish referring to your writing as a “career.”

So we hide. We may avoid future hurts, but the cost of hiding is invisibility. Learn from my mistakes: being invisible makes it really hard to find your people. You may find it hard to connect to your creativity. And frankly, it will prevent you from feeling fully alive.

It might feel safer to avoid the spotlight or to not take a creative risk or not reveal some truth you’ve experienced or learned, but this is a false safety and it doesn’t compare to the glow of community, growth, and authenticity.

So, here finally are the two things I know about showing up.

1. Showing up requires you to be your authentic self. You can’t hide your talents under a bushel. If you want to talk writing, make friends with creative people, put your work out into the world, or make money, you need to show a little leg. An ankle, at minimum.
2. Showing up as your authentic self is the best way to meet other creative people who are like you, who are seeking the same connections and fortunes, who will be the best people to help you along the way, and whom you will help the most in return. Trust me on this: There are other writers – right now – who want to meet someone like you. Not the writer you’ll be next year. Not You 2.0. The person you are today, reading this.

Take some time to reflect. Is there a big step you’re avoiding? Is your avoidance based on fear of being criticized or rejected? Shine some inquiry on that feeling and see what it reflects. Why are you carrying this?

I’ll go first:

As I wrote last week, I had a lot of excuses for not showing up. I blamed the voices of imposter syndrome, but also, those excuses created quite the cozy environment.

Not showing up kept me from confronting my social anxiety about meeting new people. It helped me avoid imposter syndrome, because I wasn’t trying to portray myself as anything; I was sitting at home. It helped me avoid feeling judged or rejected, because I wasn’t sharing anything with anyone.

Not showing up is easy. Not showing up is safe. It feels good not to feel judged, not to feel like an imposter, and to avoid situations where my social anxiety kicks in. But does that support my writing goals? When I avoid those feelings, am I becoming the writer I want to be? Am I making any new friends?

No.

Lean into this as far as you’re able, but only that far. Self-honesty doesn’t mean self-immolation. If and when you can, go deep. Reflect on your fear without judgment. Discover its layers. Listen to the promises your fear has made. Consider the benefits of safety. Can you let this go? If you can’t let go, can you loosen your grip on it, maybe just a little? Do it.

Then jump.

Your people are waiting on the other side.

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As a highly-motivated goal setter and a usually reliable goal achiever, I’m always curious about whether and how other creative people set goals. I wish I could be one of those laissez-faire writers who wanders through their day being as creative as they feel like, for a few hours or not. Unfortunately, I have to work for my supper, so my opportunity time is reduced by half. If I allow a few hours to pass without being creative, the day is lost.

That’s not to say I don’t have bad days or skip days. Some days I feel burned out from work or don’t feel well, common afflictions I feel are beneath me, but alas. Occasional travel days and holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving are also usually a wash. But on average, I spend a good amount of time writing every week; the exact number of hours per day may vary.

What other people say

In a post on Writers in the Storm, Jenny Hansen talked about her goals for 2026. Every year, the WITS bloggers choose a single word of intention for the year –such as Renew, Reset, or Joy – to act as their guiding star. I’ve tried that, but I never remember the word, so apparently this does not work for everyone. I suppose writing it down would help.

You’ve probably heard of SMART (Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevant, and Time-bound) goals. That approach can steer you in the right direction, but may be too structured for creative work. Writing a novel takes as long as it takes. However, it’s also good to be specific about your intentions and to ensure they are reasonably achievable.

I like setting enough goals that I have a roadmap for my year, with some wriggle room if I want to make a detour or if life gets in the way. This doesn’t work for everyone, but I need some structure or I find it difficult to decide what to do next. Worse, if I’m working only from a vague list, I will veer into busy work or research, or work on easy tasks rather than tackling something more meaningful, but difficult.

However, I add the wriggle room because I also need the space to play and the occasional time off. Also, when my deadlines are too strict, missing them feels like a bigger problem than it really is. There have been a few Januarys when I’ve missed some self-imposed deadlines and felt like I’d blown the whole year, when in reality A – I had 11 months to catch up and B – nobody cares.

In her post, Hansen also notes that most New Year’s resolutions fail for these same reasons. Goals are too vague, there’s no plan of action, and we have an all-or-nothing mindset that keeps us from continuing when we fall short.

In Atomic Habits, James Clear recommends starting small by picking one tiny, easily achievable goal – on par with making your bed every morning or drinking a glass of water at noon – and building forward. In his habit tracker app Atoms, Clear suggests defining the mindset you want to develop or end state you want to achieve, and view your actions as strategy. For example, you goal may be “Be more creative” and your strategy is “Write for one hour every morning before work.”

In her post, Hansen shares some insights she learned from a life coaching seminar: Our brains like solving problems as much or more than they like to-do lists. This is another way of saying it’s easy to get lost in the forest when we are looking at trees.  A long list of tasks may be more daunting than helpful, but remembering why you’re doing them may help keep you motivated.

As with Clear’s advice above, it’s helpful to define the end state you wish to achieve as you create your lists. “Post to Substack on Sunday night” is a useful task, but it you attach it to the end state of “Be more connected to my community”, the task may feel more meaningful and less like drudgery.

How I track goals

My two big picture goals for the year are finishing the next draft of my novel and keeping up with my blog. To keep track, I have a daily word count goal and I have a schedule of what I’m supposed to write and when. The word count is simply an estimate of how many words I think I need to finish the book and write 60-70 blog posts, divided by 365. The schedule reminds me that I can’t just tap out words, I have to actually finish chapters and posts. I also can’t jump to a new project when I feel stuck. I could, of course, but then I risk ending the year with a lot of words written, but nothing substantial to show for it.

The dual goals have other benefits. Hitting my word count goal gives me a pleasurable dopamine spike at the end of each writing session, even better if I exceed it. Checking off chapters and posts – usually on Saturday or Sunday – gives me a sense of accomplishment and forward motion at the end of the week, adding motivation and momentum for the start of the next week, which can be dreary.

It also helps to break down big goals into component pieces. The novel is easy, of course – chapters are excellent sub-goals. When I open a new chapter, I start by breaking down the scenes and beats, including any new character or setting descriptions. I like being able to jump around. If I don’t have any particular inspiration for an opening sentence or paragraph, I skip to set building or conversation, whatever gets me into my writing head space.

My blog goal is posting every Monday, so that breaks down easily as well. I also work better when I have an idea of what I’m going to write before I start, so I keep lists of topic ideas or series to run through. Sometimes topics get moved from one week to another, or bumped altogether if I’m not feeling it.

I don’t know how your brain works, but my brain loves checking items off a list. Seeing the word count roll and the check marks accumulate motivates me to jump onto the next piece of writing. And if I finish my novel or work ahead on my blog, I get to – not have to – start writing something new.

Your turn

Do you set goals this way? How do you keep track of your progress?

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Last week I wrote about the importance of showing up, whether that means showing up at your writing desk or in-person at a workshop, conference, or book festival. In retrospect, I fear I may have sounded a bit glib.

As I’ve developed my blog over the past several years, a few recurring themes have emerged. Authenticity and being true to oneself is a subject I return to again and again. Sharing the occasional struggle or setback is another. Social media is rife with “content creators” publishing pretend pranks, rehearsed ad libs, and heavily edited – and ultimately fake – lives. You don’t need more bullshit from me.

I want to speak with confidence, share information intelligently, and celebrate my successes, without ever forgetting there’s a man behind the curtain putting on a face. When it came to sharing my writing journey, I promised I wouldn’t pretend. I would talk about my wins and what I learned, but also admit what I didn’t know or struggled with, and confess when I blew it. So in the interest of full disclosure:

Showing up is simple, but it is not always easy.

Creative people, including writers – especially writers, in my experience – have anxiety around their work. We put not only our time but pieces of ourselves into our stories and when one is judged, the other feels it. Many of us are naturally introverted, so approaching people can be difficult. Put those together and we can become paralyzed.

Yes, I showed up last year, and that was simple, but not easy for me. Let’s take a look at what was going on in my head:

I hadn’t published enough. I hadn’t finished my novel-in-progress, which I started after I hit a roadblock on the last project and by the way, I was about to hit a roadblock in the current WIP, which would push the finishing line out a few months at least. People like doers, not talkers. I wasn’t far enough along on my career. I’m a very late starter and should be on Act 3 or 4 of my writing career by now, not trying to get Act 1 together. I’m sure everyone else already has plenty of writer friends and colleagues, critique groups, and networking opportunities, so they wouldn’t have interest or room for one more. And what did I have to offer anyway?

It gets worse, believe me. But I knew that if I were to accomplish anything, if I were to create the writing life I believed in, something had to change.

“Fear is the mind-killer.” Dune, Frank Herbert

Step 1 is to silence these critical voices. Some people use the power of positive thinking. Some can bully their voices into submission. I let them run wild until they tucker themselves out, then make plans while they have a little nap.

During one of those quiet moments, I started with something I thought would be easy. I asked friends who write to hang out and write. Other than asking my drinking friends if they’d like to get together for a drink, I can’t think of an invitation with lower stakes. Low risk of rejection, low level of commitment, almost no fallout if the plan doesn’t come together.

I had some anxiety about Jane Friedman’s Business of Writing workshop. I’m a sturdy wallflower but ironically do better in large groups where I can fade into the background and enjoy a good, old-fashioned watching. With limited seats (12, I believe), there would be very little opportunity to hide in the back row. I might have to actually talk to someone. But I remembered I had done worse for my job and for something not remotely meaningful. If I could gladhand a horde of DC attorneys and federal government bigwigs at my company’s annual conference, I could handle a few writers around a circle of foldout tables in a barn.

When the opportunity came to ask some of those writers if they’d like to keep in touch, I still had to overcome that fear – see above – but importantly, I had already done two new things, so the third was not as scary. In fact, the point of doing the first two things was to create an environment where this opportunity might arise. Not taking action here would have undercut what I was trying to accomplish. Even then, I came very close to not pulling out that yellow note pad.

As I debated, I eventually asked myself what was the worst that could happen? They weren’t going to laugh at me or chase me to my car. Even if only one or two people had signed up, I would have called that success. Honestly, that would have been a massive win for me. If no one had been interested, I would have gone home, let the voices have their say, and added to cart until I felt better. Then I would have regrouped and started looking for the next opportunity.

All that to say, I do encourage you to show up, wherever you need to. If – like me – you find this difficult, look for ways to make it easier on yourself. Start small, with people you know. Look for places where you might meet other writers who need what you’re looking for. Ask questions: Where did you meet ______ and How did you ______?  Humans love sharing their success stories and you should definitely steal their ideas.

If you hit some roadblocks, take some time to get over yourself and try again. To paraphrase, if someone doesn’t want to hear what you have to say, shake the dust off your feet and move on.

Every writer you love – from self-published to celebrity – has had this challenge, but somewhere along the way, they decided that their fear of not taking the next step was greater than their fear of taking it. If it’s hard for you, I totally get it.

But if a neurotic dork like me can do it, you can too.

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Writers and other creative people struggle with various aspects of the process, but as I watch them interact online and in my real world, I find that many flounder because they fail to master the most important skill: Showing up.

I’ve had this problem, including periods when I didn’t write at all, even though I claimed to want to. In all the years I wanted to make writer friends and build my little community, there were plenty of meetups I missed, conferences I skipped, opportunities blown. I had my excuses, but what mattered is that I didn’t show up.

Last year, I showed up – on my weekly Zoom sessions with my writer friends, at Jane Friedman’s workshop and AI talk, at the picnic table where a bunch of writers gathered to eat and chat, at Balticon where I met a few other writers and invited one to join the networking group, and at the monthly networking meetings. That sounds like a lot of steps, but all I did was say yes.

I almost bailed on every one of those choices, but I’m glad I stayed at the picnic table to pass around the yellow pad. A small thing, passing around a yellow pad, but it made a big difference in my world.

This year, I commit to saying yes more often. I say yes to making incremental progress on my WIP, to sharing info with my writer friends, to going places where other writers hang out, to talking about writing and creativity, and putting myself and my work out into the world. I commit to saying yes to improving my craft, by reading good craft advice, rewriting even when it’s a struggle, and asking for critiques.

The ride will not be perfect and I don’t know what I’ll find at the end, but I say yes to the possibility that I can be more. Life will get in the way, but I say yes to getting back on track as quickly as possible. I say yes to changing what doesn’t work for me so I can focus on what’s important to my creative health and fulfillment.

If you’re reading this, chances are that you are already showing up. Is there something else you’d like to accomplish? Are you holding back from showing up someplace new?

What are you saying yes to this year? Where will you show up?

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A few weeks ago, I gave myself a report card for my 2025 writing year, which means it’s time for new goals for 2026. I don’t always hit every goal, but posting them publicly keeps me accountable. Saying it out loud ensures that I do something to move the ball forward, even if I don’t reach the pitcher’s mound. Did I say that right?

Goals

Finish my WIP. This is a spillover goal from last year. As I wrote in my performance eval a few weeks ago, I was on track to finish a ready-to-share draft of the novel until I got bogged down in the muddy middle. I cut, consolidated, replaced, and reshuffled, and now feel optimistic that my plot can carry me through the most difficult part. If not, I have a year to fix it, plus I already fixed it once, so I have a decent grasp on what it might take to pull the wagon out of the ditch, should we run off the road again. I have a daily word count goal, but the important task is finishing, not merely adding up words.

Maintain my blog and newsletter. I closed out 2025 with about 70 blog posts and that sounds about right for this year. I’ve already drafted out topics for a good portion of them, which is half the battle. I may mix in some creative nonfiction along with the craft and creativity posts, but don’t hold me to that. We’ll file that under stretch goals.

Networking and social. I will continue my weekly writing meetups and see about adding an in-person social time, if I have any takers. My monthly networking meetup is going great and I fully expect us to continue meeting. I would like have more social time but here is where time starts to crunch. In a perfect world, I would like to have a small dedicated critique group and I should (I hate that word) spend more time interacting on my social accounts. Let’s call the first 2 solid and achievable goals and the latter 2 optimistic stretch goals.

Reading. Reading isn’t exactly a writing goal, but as the man says – if you don’t have time to read, you don’t have time to write. I have 80 books on the TBR list for next year, ranging from the highbrow – Sartre’s Being and Nothingness, a collection of seven of Joan Didion’s books, the complete poems of Robert Lowell, and a translation of the Nag Hammadi (Gnostic) scriptures – to the slightly breezier Complete Stories of Kurt Vonnegut and Patricia Highsmith’s Diaries, with some murder mysteries, graphic novels, and craft books to break up the heavy lifting. I’m very much looking forward to re-reading Ethan Mordden’s Buddies series and John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. I could probably guess which books on the list won’t get read in 2026, but since I choose the books, that would be cheating. I should get through most of them.

Stretch goals

As the name implies, these are projects I’d like to work on, but won’t prioritize unless I blast through the more achievable goals. Ideally, these will be at the top to the list next year.

Draft book 2. I have a good outline for my next book, a follow-on novel to the WIP, set in the same world but with an entirely different cast. I don’t anticipate writing both books this year, but if I finish the first by the end of summer – eminently doable – then I could finish an ugly NANO-ish draft by the end of the year.

Stage book 3. I know what my next-next book will be, an expansion of a novella that I wrote a few years ago that needs more room to breath. If I need a break from – or between – book 1 and 2, I can work on what I call my Rationale document – a big picture review of the protagonist and the antagonism, what I’m writing and why, what I want to say, and what I want my readers to feel while and after reading the novel. It’s not quite an outline, though much of the document will find its way into an outline. Think of it as a vision board in a Word doc.

Art time. Every year I write down art time and every year I don’t set aside time to do any art. However, as you may recall, I spent a good chunk of September painting and setting up my craft room, so I have a drafting table, an easel, a kitchen table, and a writing desk glaring at me every time I pass by. I have paper. I have pencils. I’ve had some of my inks and paints so long they’ve probably gone crusty, but that’s ok. I like doodling and maybe I’ll get some time this year.

That’s a lot

And that’s ok. I know my priorities: the Top 3 are the WIP, my blog, and the networking group. The stretch goals are just that – fun things to pick at if I need a break or win the lottery. Compared to the Top 3, they aren’t vital to a successful year. I’ll report back next December.

What are your creative goals for 2025?

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The holiday season is also a good time for indulging traditions, and here’s one of mine.

I’ve gone into the background on this meditation in previous blog posts, so if you’ve read this before, feel free to skip to the end. If you’ve joined me in the last year, this will be new.

I adopted this creative exercise from the writings of psychologist Gay Hendricks, fittingly from his book Five Wishes. The process is intended to help one focus on the emotional development and success stories that would be most vital for your long-term happiness, and turn them into lifelong goals. Hendricks learned this exercise from Ed Steinbrecher, an astrologer (I know; bear with me), teacher, and metaphysician. The exercise is a simple, but not necessarily easy, four-step process.

Step 1: Imagine today is your last day of life, and someone asks you if your life was a complete success. How would you respond? We have all heard the cliché deathbed laments: I wish I’d worked less. I wish I’d forgiven more. We may also have happy thoughts. I climbed a mountain, metaphorical or physical. My kids turned out ok. Maybe your answer is a resounding yes! If – like me – you feel that your life, if it ended right now, would not have been a complete success, continue to step 2.

Step 2: Now, still imagining yourself on your last day, consider why you might say your life was not a complete success. What did or didn’t you do? Express that idea as a wish. I wish I’d had a better relationship with my parents. I wish I’d spent less time at work and more time with my kids. I wish I’d gone to college. I wish I’d learned to swim or play guitar or had travelled more. I wish I’d been more spiritual. I wish I’d had the confidence to pursue my dreams.

The specific answer doesn’t matter, because it’s personal and unique for each of us. The only restriction is that your answer should be something within your control to accomplish. I wish I’d been taller doesn’t count. It may also be helpful to focus on spiritual or emotional success, rather than something like “I wish I’d had written a bestselling book and made 10 million dollars.” We’re looking inward here, people.

For the exercise, it’s important that you be honest about the accomplishments that would have made your life a complete success, whatever that means to you. Take time to consider why this accomplishment would be important to you and why you would feel fulfilled if you achieved it.

Repeat this step until you have identified five things you wish you’d done. Five regrets and five wishes. If you have more than five, that’s fine. If you don’t have five, that’s ok too. Actually, that’s pretty good, right? We should all have so few regrets. But you probably have at least five.

Step 3: Next, reframe those regrets and wishes as positive present-tense statements. Consider what you might regret not doing today and turn it around. Here’s a paraphrased example from Hendrick’s own attempt at this exercise:

• Wish: “My life was not a complete success because I did not follow through on significant communications with people who are important to me. I wish I’d gotten around to saying all the things I wanted to say to my family and close friends.”
• Present-tense statement: “My life is a complete success because I say and do all the important things I need to say and do. I leave nothing significant unsaid or undone.”

For Hendricks, this meant taking responsibility for any lack of integrity, making amends, expressing appreciations, and fully committing to loving, honest communication. If something is on his mind and he thinks someone else needs to know it, he’ll say it. If you read any of his books, you’ll find he is committed to a level of honesty that may feel off-putting if you aren’t prepared for it. Fortunately, his wife is playing from the same game plan.

Consider your regrets and celebrate that today is probably not your last day. You have time to take action. Write down your five wishes as if they are already happening. Write your success story.

Step 4: You’ve now identified the accomplishments that would make your life a complete success, and you are ready for the hard part: putting them into action. Take some time to set goals for how you will turn those present-tense aspirations into a real state of being.

Some of your goals may require time, planning, or resources you don’t have right now, but others can be acted upon immediately. Some may have concrete actions and some may require discipline and practice to develop a good habit. You probably can’t leave today to spend six months backpacking across Europe but you can start writing poetry again. You can’t heal a broken relationship overnight, but you can make a phone call or write an email. You can do something as simple as express appreciation to the people in your life who lift you up.

How is this about writing?

I’ve completed this exercise for the past few years, always around the New Year. I focus on spirituality, relationships, integrity, self-acceptance, and creativity. I then go through the meditation a second time, focusing on my creative work and goals. There’s quite a bit of overlap, but the creativity exercise concludes with more concrete steps around my writing. I’m not always successful, but I make progress. I might even forget about some practices, but then the New Year comes round again and there’s a chance for renewal.

My wishes

Last year, I was coming off a rather trying 2024, and I happy to report that 2025, while not perfect, was relatively smoother. I hadn’t set any new expectations for 2024, which turned out to be a good thing, but at the beginning of 2025 my Five Wishes were:

• My writing life is a complete success because I work on projects that are personally meaningful and allow me to explore my big questions about life. I write fearlessly, dig deep for emotional truth, and share my observations, without worrying about anyone’s judgment. I carve my own path.
• My writing life is a complete success because I’m committed to continuous learning and development, I’m unafraid to challenge myself, and I’m excited about trying new forms, genre, strategies, and other elements of writing.
• My writing life is a complete success because I finish the projects I start and share my work with others.
• My writing life is a complete success because I’m not competitive with other writers. I share my knowledge, offer encouragement, and celebrate their successes.
• My writing life is a complete success because I engage with other writers, foster community, and seek out creative collaborations.

How did I do? I’m happy. I’m not a complete success, because I haven’t typed “the end” to my novel yet, but I’m committed to finishing. I’m ok being a slow writer, and if you count my blog – I do – then yes, I’m completing projects and putting them into the world.

Wish Five has long been my stumbling block. Every year I express my wish for community, and every year I come up empty. There are reasons – not ready, not good enough, not a good fit – but let’s roll them all up under a general category of self-doubt and fear. But every year, I express this wish again and keep my heart and eyes open for the possibilities.

This year, I’m happy to say I’m on my way to being a complete success because I am engaged with other writers and fostering community with my blog readers, my writing meetup, and my networking group. I sat on a panel discussion – two, in fact – for the first time since my mini-publisher days and got way more talk time. We’re early days still but I see a future and it’s good. This is the first year where I feel I haven’t let down the side.

My writing wishes don’t change much year to year. When I go out, I want to have a few books under my belt, written to the best of my ability, and without regard to what anyone else thinks I should be writing. I want to keep learning and freely share what I know, and I want to do all these things with a community of friends. And every year I get a little bit closer to being a complete success.

What are your five wishes for your creative life this year?

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One of my should-do-but-might-not-do goals this coming year is to interact more on my social media accounts. When I started my branding (loathsome word) project last summer, I cleared much of the detritus from my various public accounts and limited myself to following or friending folks actively engaged in their creative work. I deleted all my pop culture and political pages on Facebook and added a few writing groups that seemed both active and useful. When I log in, I want to see people doing. I want to be inspired, not mollified or enraged. This felt good for about five minutes, and then I went back to not caring too much about social media.

At its best, social media is a pathway to learning new information, discovering new hobbies or things to love, making friends, and doing whatever we call the relationship between followers and the followed. At worst, it’s a demoralizing horror show. Whether the account belongs to a friend or a social media presence, we may find ourselves scrolling through someone else’s life and comparing it to whatever drab nonsense we had to tolerate lately. Because humans tend to reveal only their best views, we are tricked into believing that everyone else is living a life of ease and fulfillment, while we are working ten hours a day, skipping the gym, watching movies alone, picking up dog poop, and planning our next staycation. Even the realization that most people are faking it helps only a little.

With this in mind, I was reminded of a blog post I shared a couple of years ago, from Tiffany Yates Martin: Measure Your Success by What You’re Doing, Not What You Want to Do. In the post, Martin touches on the above. “Realize that you’re only seeing the highlights, and as impressive as your life looks on your social media feeds, you know the interstices: the mundane, dull, difficult,” she writes. “Remind yourself that’s what other people’s posts—and lives—are too.”

Funnily enough, that is one reason why I share the occasional struggle. I’m excited to share news about my networking group or the invitation to speak at a writers’ workshop. But I also don’t mind confessing that I didn’t finish my novel this year because the middle sucked and I didn’t post for a couple of weeks because my car got totaled and I was stressed out about it. There’s a man behind the curtain and let me tell you – it’s a mess back here. There’s a reason I’ve hung curtains.

There is a converse side to social media. In her post, Martin writes about scrolling through her own social account and being pleasantly surprised by how much she’d accomplished over the past year.  Rather than focusing on what she’d missed out on, she experienced a moment of anti-FOMO.

Isn’t that a great idea? Looking back at your accomplishments is much healthier than doomscrolling someone else’s life and wishing you could have a bite of what’s on their plate. It’s certainly better than beating yourself up over what you didn’t do.

Even before social media, before we had a name for Fear of Missing Out, I experienced the self-shaming that comes from watching other people engage in cool activities, reach life milestones, and celebrate accomplishments. I don’t do that anymore. Partly because I’m older and wiser. Very few people live a life untroubled by drama and disappointment. But also, I’m doing my thing. I’m happy.

My 2025 turned out great. It wasn’t perfect and it didn’t go remotely as I planned, but when will it ever? I missed some blog deadlines, but I have more readers than I did last January, and when I scroll back through the year of posts, there are a number that I’m pretty proud of. My writing meetups didn’t quite take off the way I hoped, but I found my wonderful networking group. I didn’t finish my novel, but the partial novel I have is better than the novel I would have had if I’d forced myself to keep writing based on the weak outline.

I don’t have FOMO because I don’t feel like I missed out on anything.

Celebrate what you have. Look back on what you accomplished, without counting up what you didn’t. And don’t wait until next year to reflect on what you’re achieving today. Be proud of yourself now. Enjoy the moment and live in the memories you’re making.