This morning, I thought I would take the time to actually write down some major-to-minor goals. It's really no big deal for someone who's always been goal-oriented. But I am not that someone. I am someone who is dealing with the layered wake(s) of her own impulsiveness for years.
Before I do that, I want to tip my hat to the writer's group I joined last night. Yes, it's possible, nay even probable, that I will find myself some new readers today, but not without me acknowledging the talent of every single person who read in E's living (sitting?) room last night. I had never been part of a group like that and had been waiting for some time to be a part of the writing world, without it causing great discomfort or distress to my fragile ego. And lo, there it was. Five people, five distinct styles, and no one getting their pannies in a bunch about a single thing. Just pouring, solid, super-welcome feedback.
In the words of the great Pinocchio: "I'm a real writer!" Oh, wait. No. That's not it. Well. Close enough. You get that I was excited, right? And that this was the first time I've shared my writing in that capacity? And that it was definitely a first to get that level of feedback? Yay!
Anyway, I digress. I do more than digress. I jump all over the random place and bring your focus back to the goal thing. (Yes, you can see why I've trouble with goal-setting, can't you? The ADD-style of writing could be considered somewhat correlative to my style of living.)
This is hard for me. It's harder to think about than it is to read it, where the words zip past your eyes, but have mulled for hours in my head. I think this is every writer's dilemma. Thus the need for setting goals.
First goal. Practice setting goals often. Practice makes perfect, yeah, yeah, my musician's mind is wagging its finger at the rest of me. Review the ones I've made, revise often, make amendments as needed. This may seem as "duhhh-uhh, Amy" as you can get, but you have to remember that this is a person with a history of me refusing to go with the masses, even if it was good for me. My adamant, stubborn (see: principle-istic) refusal to join any bandwagon has come with its detriments.
TWO. Be okay with being a dork. Whatever that means, however I've defined it, stop with the spazmatic, reactive behavior that comes from being so, absolutely, bizarrely insecure; stop going along with old notions and outdated-to-you preconceptions and make LONG term goals and SHORT ones. (You'd think I would have gotten used to this by now.) Time frame: rtf now.
Three. Own, or be working towards owning, my own bassoon. Maple only. Can't substitute. Within the next year. Maple bassoons are hella expensive. I could get a second-hand vehicle for the price of a bassoon. I could get a nice second-hand vehicle for what one can shell out for this instrument. The realization that this is what musicians do is what has made me realize just how hard I was trying to practical; and also: how negative I have been about getting one. I'm a musician who doesn't even own her own instrument. (I'm even borrowing the piano I loved for 10 years from my ex.) This is one part to why musicians are poor. The stereotype comes with good reason. We pay good money for good sound, pitch, timbre.
Four: Get my daughter's and my immigration cards taken care of. Projected time frame: summer. Projected time frame for filling out forms, getting the documents in line, and mailing off: already past due. Retry: Wednesday, next week.
Five: Finish my maid of honor's speech. Project goal line: No later than May. (The wedding's in July!)
That's it. Well, for now. I know I was thinking of a bunch to put down, but in between the time I wrote the first lines of this entry and this very moment of typing, an entirely 24 hours has magically elapsed and I need to move on.
(Life. It gets in the way of a writer.)