There’s never a bad time to stop and reflect on life, but the end of a calendar year lends itself to both a sense of conclusion and new beginnings. And even though March feels like it happened about three weeks ago, we’ve arrived at the end of another December. If, like me, you are time challenged, I apologize for breaking this news so abruptly. It caught me offguard too.

So let’s talk about goals. I like goals. They remind me of what’s important, keep me on track, provide evidence of progress, and break down big picture projects into manageable segments. Despite what NaNoWriMo taught two generations of writers, novels are not written in 30 days.

I usually set too many goals – writing and personal – but I’m good about prioritizing, so whatever time I have in a given week goes to the project on top. Importantly, I’m also not bound to the calendar, for a goal is only as good as the service it provides you. Historically, my roadmaps last at least 7-8 months, and sometimes I get through an entire year without tossing one out, but I will start fresh when it suits me. If my needs or circumstances change, my plans evolve with them, whether that happens in January, April, or August. This is realistic and satisfies the committee.

As part of my end of year reflection, I give myself a performance appraisal, reviewing what I accomplished, which goals I missed, and how and why. Did something sound like fun but wasn’t? Did it take more time than I anticipated? When and how did life get in the way? Was a project worth the effort and should I keep going or cut my losses? Where did I win? When was I most productive? What habits, plans, and productivity tools did the best job keeping me on track? Should I perhaps stop overthinking and lighten up a bit?

Obviously this last question is rhetorical.

I don’t beat myself up for not hitting every mark. I tend to set a few meaningful and achievable goals, along with one or two stretch goals, ie: projects that would be fun to do, but may not be realistic with my time and other resources. Every year, in a fit of ridiculous optimism, I write down “podcast” and every year I reluctantly scratch it off, usually sometime in the second quarter. Podcasts are fun but time-consuming, and likely would be no better at building my community than my blog. A podcast would also be a great way to procrastinate on my novel while still allowing me to look busy. I know how I am.

So what goals did I set last year and how did I do? In the interest of full disclosure:

Finish my novel in progress. This was my top goal for the year: to have a complete, ready for someone to read, draft of my work in progress. By the time July rolled around, I was somewhere between a quarter and a third of the way done, and had a clear outline of the rest of the book. A final manuscript was achievable. And then I started writing the middle of the book and the air went out of the tires. The main character floundered. Events pushed him hither and yon. Exciting things happened to and around him but the plot was being driven by circumstance, not desire. Important characters were about to disappear until the end of the story and I knew that wasn’t going to work. Rather than waste time writing more chapters that wouldn’t go anywhere, I went back to basics. I picked apart scenes, deleted and added, cut and consolidated characters, created a new inciting incident, and strengthened the cause and effect chain. I feel good about this new outline, but I won’t have a complete novel by the end of December. Fortunately, much of what I’ve already written is reusable or editable, so I will have a Frankendraft to work with come January.

Grade: B, because you should never feel bad about correcting course when you need to.

Outline my next novel-to-be. I lean into goal-setting and productivity tools because my mind tends to wander. I also have a hard time letting go of ideas when I get them, so I usually have a backup project going alongside my main work. The novel following this one is set in the same world, but with different characters, so plot ideas and storyworld elements will pop up as I’m working the main project, and this is a good place for some of them. Having a brainstorm document also gives me a break from the more intense WIP work when I need it (2000 words/hour is more satisfying than 200 words/per hour). The happy accident is that I’m applying the lessons learned from the above work while outlining this one. It was easier to spot developments that needed a bigger setup or better payoff, and places where the antagonism needed to hit harder. It’s not a pretty outline, but it’s a solid starting point.

Grade: A

Post regularly on my blog. I started the year with a goal of posting twice per week – Monday and Thursday – and I maintained that pace for as long as I could. After a few months, however, it was clear that while I loved blogging and connecting with my handful of readers, it was preventing me from working on my novel (see above re: procrastinating while looking busy). Part of my problem is that I can’t write short, so most of my posts run 800 – 2000 words. I also obsessively self-edit and proofread. So, I cut back to once per week. I did miss a few weeks, but I’m not a robot and this isn’t a full-time job. Or any kind of job. I don’t know about you, but my jobs pay money. Overall, though, I will end the year with 70+ blog articles, which ain’t hay.

Grade: B, because I don’t like missing deadlines, but eh – that’s life.

Expand my reach. WordPress and Substack auto-mail blog posts, but I also decided to start a newsletter, because for most people it’s easier to give me an email address than it is to remember to visit a site, sign up for yet another social account, and subscribe to a publication. I wisely decided to keep it simple, with an opening first-person message, a brief recap of what I posted on the blog, an occasional short book review, and a parting song. I set a reasonable goal of sending a new email on the first Sunday of each month and so far have published every month.

In June, based on advice from Jane Friedman, I moved my website blog to Substack as a way to increase my visibility. I don’t have a large readership, but it’s larger than what I had in January, so I’ll take that as a win. Substack also made it easier to post to social media, which I find tedious, and my follows are inching up. Go me!

Grade: A; extra credit for joining Substack

Find my tribe. Throughout my life, I’ve had intermittent success making friends with other writers. I had exactly one writer friend in college. I had a wonderful collective in California, which I stupidly traded for a start-up theater group, the less said about the better. I spent a number of years in the wilderness before finding some writer friends in western Maryland, but life eventually took us to different locales. More recently, I have tested out various critique groups, but never found one I fully vibed with. COVID ended a bunch of them. I embrace the DIY aesthetic, so when I failed to find what I needed, I knew in my heart I’d have to create it myself.

First, earlier this year I invited a bunch of my writer and wannabe writer friends to join me online for a weekly silent writing session. Show up, shut up, write. While many expressed initial enthusiasm, only a few actually managed to complete step one. We intrepid few continue to meet every Wednesday to keep each other company while we work. I’m not always in the mood, but I show up anyway, because I know the others are waiting.

In May, I attended Jane Friedman’s one-day intensive The Business of Being a Writer workshop. I don’t have grand designs on becoming a bestselling novelist or making a significant income from my writing, but it’s also important to me to have writing peers with whom I can share ideas, information, feedback, and encouragement. As I wrote to Jane before the event: I’m so excited to meet 12 other writers with the oomph to take this workshop!

My expectations were far exceeded. Jane gave each of us detailed, personalized feedback on our websites, blogs, and social media profiles, as well as tons of advice on how to align our writing, public personas, and online tools to create a brand. I went into the day planning to ask the other writers if they’d like to keep in touch but I chickened out.

Fortunately, the next week Jane gave a follow-on talk on how generative AI is affecting the creative community. After the presentation, while everyone was happily munching sandwiches and cookies, I set a yellow pad and pen on the table and asked if anyone would like to keep in touch.

Pro tip: Plan your networking around snacks.

I was not sure how or if anyone would respond, but everyone at the table added their name and email address to the list. Thanks to my RBF it probably didn’t show, but that was my first What the Fuck moment. I was prepared for disappointment, but now I was going to have to actually do this thing I’d proposed. The second WTF moment occurred during our first online meeting when 8 out of the 9 writers joined the Zoom session. As I wrote at the time in my monthly newsletter, I could invite 9 people to my funeral and not have 8 show up. This was actually happening.

Six months later, we have shared advice on book cover design, manuscripts, queries, networking, and blogging, and developed new friendships and community around our creative work. My presentations at the Manor Mill Writers Workshop were a direct result of the networking group, as the event founder Katie Ritter is also one of us. I have been so accustomed to going it alone that I wasn’t quite sure where we’d go together, but I’m deeply grateful, if slightly terrified, every time we meet. I named the group email list Masterminds, but don’t tell them. I’d hate for it to go to their heads.

Grade: A (Gold stars for everyone!)

Set aside time for drawing and painting. I like to draw and paint. I’m not good at either of these things. This is actually part of the attraction. I’m not a good artist, I have no designs on becoming a good artist, and I have no ego attached to the results. Unlike writing, I can enjoy the process of creating a crappy drawing while not caring too much about the outcome. I will proudly show off my off-kilter still life but I would rather die than show someone a piece of writing in early draft form. Also, drawing exercises an entirely different portion of my brain, the part that takes in shape, texture, and color without necessarily needing to name them. It’s quite relaxing.

I didn’t do any drawing last year.

Grade: 0, but it doesn’t matter.

So, three As, two Bs, and one zero that doesn’t matter. Not bad. As ever, there is room for improvement, but overall, this was a pretty great year, especially for finding my people. Everything else is gravy.

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