The Year is Dead. Long Live the Year.
New Years… is odd.
As a holiday, it’s part celebration, part funeral. We are, in a very real way, celebrating the death of another part of our lives. One year has ticked past, one more ‘X’ upon the calendar, marking time as we circle the sun.
I don’t mind celebrating the end of things. The instructions for my funeral look like they were written while I was on acid. We eat, we drink, and we make merry, for we know that tomorrow we must die.
For myself, I celebrated because 2018 had finally died. I danced upon its grave, and if I were ever given the chance, I’d dance again. Only more with even more gusto were that possible.
2018 was an unmitigated dumpster fire fueled by industrial strength bio-hazards. I cannot, will not, go over in detail what happened. It was trash, from start to finish, with little in the way of redeeming features.
So, let’s not talk about it any further.
The Year is dead. Long live the Year.
2019, you and me, we’ve got things to do.
My career has places to be. My personal life has untapped potential, and my posts for The Quill are on track to be the best I’ve done in some time.
So, in no particular order, we are going to take this time to lay out a roadmap for 2019. These are not some collection of wishy-washy resolutions to be dropped once you realize the gym is hard work and requires that you go more than ten minutes once every other week.
No, these are a grouping of goals. A clutch of checkpoints. A gaggle of guidelines. Okay, I reached for that last one, but come on, I had to go there.
1) The Quill runs on the schedule of a German Railway. Posts. Every. Week. I just lost almost half an hour’s worth of writing tending to tiny human and his youthful exuberance. And I’m still here, writing until the job is done. So that’s what you’ll get, week in, week out, day in, day out. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, there is new Quill to read.
2) Podcasts. That’s right, podcasts. I’m not going to try and triumphantly proclaim one every month, but one every two isn’t asking too much of myself, and depending upon how well new job starts improving my health, I could look at doing even more. For now, the amount of time required of both myself and my wife demand that I hold to a longer schedule.
3) Streaming isn’t as big a priority as I want it to be, and that’s just going to have to continue suffering. It should be higher on the food chain, it needs to be, but the fact remains that I spend a lot more quality time on my writing when I’m not focused on my streaming. Is that fair? No. Is it reality? Yup. So, streaming will not be stopping but will become more sporadic. Especially during the first few weeks of the new job as I adjust to the schedule.
4) I’m going to stop chasing after people. 2018 was hard for a lot of reasons, but one of the big ones showed itself over and over. There are those who were once a huge part of my life, central to it in fact, that no longer wish to be there. I have to move on, and as much as that feels like a betrayal of everything I try to believe of myself, the fact remains that at this stage it is a one-sided conversation. I’m going to press on, and do everything I can to try and make new friendships. Should those in question approach me and show a desire to mend fences, then I shall do so. Otherwise… well… I just need to accept that all things end. Even the good things.
5) I’m going to recommit to my attempts to find an agent. I got a rejection letter in… May? June?… of 2018 and it crushed me. Not because it was mean, but precisely because it wasn’t. It was cold, analytical, and merciless. Every issue broken down to its essentials, my flaws laid bare with the surgical precision of one possessed of intelligence as well as experience. While they did nothing so crude as to suggest I would never have a career, it was made plain as day that they would not consider another proposal from me for some time, and that I would have to do a serious overhaul to my writing. It scared me, that letter, exposing the deepest and darkest secrets that I have about my writing. I haven’t sent a letter out since. Time to stop running. Time to stop being afraid. Tonight has proven that I can be a writer. My wife is an English teacher, obsessive reader, exceptional writer, and all-around amazing person. She does not spread praise where it is not earned, and I wrote a passage which she found sublime. I can do this. I am good enough to do this.
6) Last, but certainly not least, I need to take better care of my meatsuit. It’s alarming how fast some of it is falling apart, and my mother’s death was a huge wake-up call to the fact that I do not have good genes. In fact, I have a piss-poor collection of medical and mental issues that are highly likely to be my undoing. So, after my mom died, the wife and I doubled down on my health. Since that time, I have started realigning my gut flora, I consume vegetables at an alarming rate. To illustrate: tonight’s dinner was potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, and a few small sausage links. Dessert was a banana, snack is currently a very healthy potato salad. I have worked out twice so far today, doing a combination of planks, push-ups, and stretches. I get up out of my chair frequently. I’m heading to the gym before I lay down to sleep. This is happening, because I’ve things to do yet, and I refuse to let my ill-health trip me at the finish line.
So that’s me. No whining, no wheedling for sympathy. The year is over. Drain your cup, cry, laugh, celebrate, or commiserate. Whatever you need to do.
A new year has begun. Start writing a new story. I know I will.
Joyfully,
Justin
