Today is my birthday, which typically makes me smile and act like a minor royalty (complete w/ subjects and specter). I have no doubt that I’ll be indulging in that behavior shortly — even at the day job — but this birthday is a bit bittersweet.
Last year I set a goal of 300,000 words in my 30th yr. I did it like I did all of goals: I got an arbitrary idea, convinced myself it was a GREAT one, and just let it roll without any sort of plan in place. My thought was I had nearly done that much in the 6 months prior to my bday, and I was sure I could do an extra 50K in a year.
I failed. I’m at 175,110 for the year (minus blogs, duel pieces, etc) and while that’s nothing to sneeze at, I’m not satisfied. I could make excuses, but screw that. I’m wearing my big girl panties –which for the record they’re super cute! — and I know I failed because I didn’t really work for it.
So I’m doing it again. Only this time, I know what it will take. I know what I’ll have to do and what I’ll have to avoid. I have *gasp* a plan. So my birthday present this morning is a pledge to write 310,000 in my 31st year.