Two or three years in a row someone in one of my writing groups handed out blank paper at our January meeting and said we should list our writing goals for the whole year.
My paper always remained blank. First, I'm just not good at writing on demand. I say it takes me time to contemplate the position of the sun, moon and stars before the ideas start to flow.
And thinking about what I want to do long term is brain-numbing to me. Yet I'm never late on a deadline of any kind, and that includes writing my books. Once I get a project, any project, I sit down and try to figure out how long it will take me to get it done. I build in extra days for goofing off, for illness, or unexpected visitors, etc. But if I tried to sort out a schedule in advance of know what the project is would never work for me. However, I don't like doing anything at the last minute either.
My family will tell you I'm compulsive obsessive. One time after a move to a new state I decided to take some time off before looking for a job. By the end of three weeks my kids were begging me to find someplace to interview, because I was color coding everything in my kitchen cabinets. Which isn't to say I don't envy planners, I do. I have friends who will tell you in January what general plans they have month-by-month for the entire year. I can tell you they're definitely more relaxed than I am. I fall back on saying: "isn't it wonderful that it takes all kinds to make up our lovely, diverse world?"
I had to laugh, because I didn't steal this from Karen, but I'd already typed in this spot: "That's my story and I'm sticking to it." This being Friday--for all of you who have detailed weekend plans, I hope they all work out beautifully. As for me, I'll wake up tomorrow morning and see what pops up in my life that urgently needs my undivided attention. Curling up with a good book sounds really appealing, though.