Well, the holidays are well and truly over. My decorations are down, my tree has been picked up for mulch, and all the goodies are gone (thank god for that last one!). And in the wake of the post-holiday clean-up, there is the sobering up.
I don’t mean from alcohol consumption (although, for some of us, that applies as well!). I mean from the slacking off of our writerly duties. It happens. It’s often unavoidable, what with all the parties and eating and socializing and drinking and eating…
Part of that is assessing what lies ahead in the year to come. In so doing, I realized a few things. One, that I will be increasing my nonfiction output. Two, I will be doing some very different (for me) fiction projects. And three, I will, consequently, be writing very few (if any) short stories.
I’m trying to map out the various projects I already have planned so that I don’t get slammed at any one particular time, although that’s probably going to happen at some point anyway. It’s inevitable. But I can try and stem the tide as best as I can. Extensive planning is not always possible, since we don’t always really know what we’re going to be doing during the course of the year, but when we do, I find it helpful to chart it somehow, either on a calendar or a month-by-month list.
Basically, it’s a balancing act—making sure that you let your work flow at an even, steady pace. By planning ahead as much as you can, you can even out the flow and, hopefully, don’t drown.
I also decided that I would not (to the best of my ability) get stressed out over any of it. (Yeah, right.) Seriously, if you read my blog here (http://rgemanuelle.com/2016/01/08/so-let-it-be-done), or saw some of my posts here and there on Facebook, you know that I also decided that I’ve given up on the notion that I have any control over anything. No matter how hard I try or how hard I push myself, I can’t force anything to happen. It’s either going to happen or it’s not. So, I’m going to just do what I feel I need to do, but I will leave the expectations at the curb.
Then again, some people thrive by flying by the seat of their pants. Who am I to judge?