by Adam Slade
Since it's January, and I'm approaching a big ole turn in the road that is my life (that there is an understatement), I thought I'd try and stick to some resolutions this year. Problem is that I'll fail. I always do, often catastrophically.
I always start with the best of intentions, but as many of you know, intentions are slippery little buggers. As soon as you turn your back, they've slipped out back for a smoke and a game of hacky sack. Damn hippies.
So, for your delight and delectation, I shall not only give you my list of resolutions, but also tell you how and when I will fail them. Partly because I like the sound of my own voice, and partly because Stacey said she'd hit me with a zombie if I don't do this or 'winter sports'. Pfft, please. I'm a writer. I don't do the S word.
Sports, not-- Never mind.
Where was I? Oh.
1. Write a bare minimum of 2,000 words a day. (Facebook, Twitter and emails to celebrities do not count.)
This will be failed on January the fourth at around three thirty in the afternoon, when I look at how much I've done so far and think, "Awesome! That's nearly ten percent of a first draft right there! That deserves a day or twelve of browsing the internet while listening to geeky podcasts." Some guilt will be felt.
2. Get fit, in readiness for my trip across the high seas. Well, 30,000 feet above 'em anyway.
On January the 17th, after more than two weeks of walking around the block and pedalling on the cross trainer, I'll decide it's rather cold outside/in the garage, and my time would be much better spent eating chocolate. After all, it's been a long time since I've had a cold, and I don't want to push my luck. There will be a little guilt, but that's what the chocolate is for.
3. Read more books in genres other than fantasy and comedy to expand writing horizons. Note - Cereal boxes do not count.
"Where the hell are the dragons/magical swords/turnips?!" Date of failure - January first. Guilt will last the time it takes to open a real book.
Thankfully it's the thought that counts. Right?
Happy New Year, peeps.