Sophia Bush said it best on her Instagram: Resolutions are meant to solve problems. And so, I’ve decided to make a few resolutions of my own that solve actual problems.
All those NaNoWriMo posts I was going to do? Never happened. Guess what? I failed NaNo. And I’m okay with it. I realised that while I had the potential of a good story in my hands, flying by the seat of my pants wasn’t for me. It’s difficult to stay with a long story for thirty days without a plan. Some people can do it, and I admire them and envy them all at once. But this girl cannot go without knowing what my ideas happened to be, as well as the direction I wanted to go in.
I learned a valuable lesson at the end of 2015 (or 2k15, even though we’re just replacing the 0 with a k. I’m still trying to figure that one out.) and it was that I wasn’t reading or writing enough. I was busy, sure; I had my interning and my work, but what was my excuse for not spending an hour reading or writing? Other than being uninspired with the latter, my inspiration was right before me on my bookshelf.
If timezones weren’t a thing, I would’ve failed my five book Goodreads challenge. That’s right. Five books. One plus four. Two plus three. I’m going to embarrass myself if I keep going with this maths chain. I finished reading Remember Me by Sophie Kinsella on January 1, my time, but it was December 31 Goodreads time, and so I had been successful in reading.
It felt good, even though I knew it was technically cheating. But, hey, it’s not really my fault Goodreads chose to cheat for me. I’m innocent here.
My problem is this: I’m not reading and I’m not writing. I’m not making time. I’m not believing.
But my solution is before me. Around me, even. I asked a friend who reads and juggles a lot of schoolwork how the hell she finds time to sit down and read with her long hours in class. And she said she read in the bath. I wondered how the hell you do this. Doesn’t the book get wet? Aren’t you afraid you’ll drop it? So I started to read in the bath and realised I had been missing out on the good life.
I now read in the bath. Problem solved for when I have zero time to do it otherwise. (And have lost a few paper bookmarks along the way, but some sacrifices have to be made.)
As for writing, I read a few blogs that said I should try and free-write in the morning for ten minutes. Well, there’s no way in hell I’m getting up an hour or so early in the morning to do this.
My problem lately — which is a whole separate entity in itself but bleeds into this — is that I don’t do it my way. I need to read my way. Write my way. Breathe my way. If I don’t want to write at 6AM, I don’t have to. If I don’t want to read, I don’t need to. But I’ve found that I’ve been restricting myself and thereby blocking myself creatively because I don’t read, and because I don’t read, I find little inspiration to write.
The best blog advice I have read came from a blog about fashion. Now, I don’t see myself really turning this into one about fashion, as I can easily use my Instagram to help promote my laziness, but it was good advice. Blog what you want. Blog what you like. It doesn’t matter what it is.
And so I am.
Can you guess what I’m about to say next? Of course I tried to blog like everyone else. But now it’s time to blog like how I want to blog. Sporadically. Using GIFs. Seeing how long I hold out before Real Housewives takes over my blog.
Expect book reviews. Impromptu discussions and whining about writing. I’m writing again. I’m reading again. And I’ve got plenty to say on that.