New Years 2013. Hungover and Smelling Meat.

I’m not much for New Year’s resolutions. I think it’s because my birthday was three weeks ago, and I look at that as my personal New Year. Since then, I’ve had a few weeks to reflect and decide how I want my 32nd year on Earth to go differently than last year.

I did good on my goals. I got some work out there. Collected quite a few more rejection letters. Some of them were even personalized, and one had feedback. (Actual fucking feedback. From an editor. Even though it was mostly complimentary, the notes ripped out my heart and pooped in the chest hole.) Got a couple of acceptances and a whole lot of books. I haven’t gotten paid cash money yet for my work, but it’ll come. I feel more confident in my writing than I ever have in my life.

On a personal front, I lost forty pounds. My clothes fit better. I no longer snore so loudly that the airport is calling to complain. I don’t dig on shaming people for the bodies they have, but trust me: I had to lose the weight. It was making me miserable. Every day felt like I was a plate of nachos away from a heart attack. And just in case you’re wondering how I did it: I stopped eating fast food, started cooking at home, cut pop out of my diet, started exercising , and worked my ass off. It’d be awesome if I could lose another twenty pounds or so this year, but if I don’t I don’t care.

I have several goals in which I do care about this year, however. I am going to finish the novel I started in November and finish another before the year is out. I would like to edit at least one of them to a point where I’d feel comfortable letting others read it. Submitting? I’m just trying to learn how a novel is written for right now. I’ll cross that bridge soon, but I don’t want to be some hack thrusting penguin shit upon the publishing world. I want to put more poetry and short fiction out there, hopefully landing it somewhere. Hopefully even for money. I’m not going to set goals for things I can’t control, like getting published or winning a prize. That’s a surefire way to feel stupid on my next birthday.

To make sure those goals happen, I’ll be writing every day. LIKE I SHOULD HAVE ALWAYS BEEN DOING. But in addition, I intend to make updating this blog a weekly exercise. So every Tuesday, they’ll be something here. A book review. A recipe. Victorian era BDSM porn starring Emily Dickinson and the red bird from ANGRY BIRDS. Something. 

So Feliz Año Nuevo, my friends. I hope you meet your goals and dreams somewhere along the path of 2013, and they don’t end up mugging you and stealing your kidneys.


About wombatdeamor
I am a writer who has yet to be published. I am using this blog to shame myself into writing more regularly, in the hopes that I will be able to improve the "About Yourself" box to something less awkward. I also like to cook and use profanity.

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