Make a list. Check.
David, who is a wise and profound writer, makes for himself a list of goals for the coming year. He considers the new writerly year to start at WFC. It makes sense to me, and I like making lists because it's *like* you're working towards a goal, but really you're not. Anyway.
Madison felt like a new start for me. It was very much like waking up and finding yourself happy again. That's the only way I can describe it. I'm all ready planning on going to Austin next year, and Saratoga the year after that. It's on the list. But let's make some goals, yes?
1) 12 stories. Specifically, 12 stories that are worthy of submission. Written, edited and submitted.
2) Get an agent. Ha! No, seriously. Let's get an agent.
3) Next book. I don't think I can finish a book in this time, but I'd very much like to start the first Veridon book. It'll give me something to talk about.
4) Sales. Sell half the stories you write. Ideally that means six. That's just silly. I'm not going to count the three sales I made in the last month or so. Madison is the beginning, and technically The Song was purchased the day I went to the Con. I just didn't know it. So. Half the stories written must sell.
5) Dead Channel. I can only say that I'd like to keep a steady pace of stories going on there. I'm not going to set a number. Just "maintain a viable presence on the Channel." Sounds good.
Okay, that's it. I will now forget all about this post, and no one (NO ONE!) is to remind me of it in Austin next year. Are we clear on that point?
5 Comments:
What's Dead Channel again?
Good luck on your goals.
I hope you meet or exceed your goals. Especially number five.
marshy: wait and see... wait and see.
Don't forget the list, Tim.
And I thought you were supposed to rule the 'channel with an iron fist? Now you're just maintaining a presence? I feel deprived. Nature abhors a vacuum, you know. That's what all hack-journalist-political-analysts say. In the absence of your repression, colin may whip out the fasces.
Whip out the feces!? What am I, some kind of howler monkey? Try to take charge a bit and everybody accuses you of throwing around your own poop!
What?
Oh. Fasces.
Or feces. You know, if that's how you wanna roll...
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