Goals

Setting goals has not been a good strategy for me. It's almost self-defeating. I remember once after a day off, my boss asked me what I'd done with my time. I said I'd crossed everything off my to-do list. "Wow!" she replied. "Well," I said, "it was a pretty short list."

Perhaps my goal-setting process should be more like that. No grand pronouncements. 

As I was finishing up Lies and Love I giddily proclaimed that I wanted to write more four novellas this year. Well, here it is, the middle of March, and I've barely dribbled a thousand words onto a page. And I'm not necessarily going to keep all of them.

If I have to hurry up and get things crossed off my to-do list, the results will be subpar. "I really need to rearrange that cupboard." I start by pulling everything out, wiping down the surface, pondering a new arrangement. Then I glance down at my list and realize how far behind I am. I end up shoving everything back in, resulting in a worse mess than before. But at least I can cross off that task and move on.

One shouldn't do that with books. It's better to have one lovely cupboard than an entire kitchen mess. 

So I'm tossing that goal out. Two novellas this year is more realistic. That I can accomplish. I can take my time and write them well. I won't be glancing at a clock or the calendar. And if I surpass that goal, all the better!

I have a scribbled list of to-do's sitting in front of me on the desk. Half of them will never get done, and I know it. Or they'll get done a year from now. 

It's good to have plans. Just don't kill yourself executing them.