Statement of Goals
It's always hard for me to lay out a plan because I so rarely have one. As of late, I fear my mind has fallen victim to this sort of Jekyll-Hyde phenomena where I fret like a maniac for a day or two, buried under violent obtrusive woes like "I still don't have the cash to pay that parking ticket," "If I didn't screw up freshman year I'd be graduating in three weeks," "Is my writing going to make me any money or did I spend four years just fooling myself," and "Oh my God, did I remember to feed the cats?!" Those terrible days are often followed by a blissful weekend of reading, video games, and enjoying the sunshine. It's hard to believe, but I am literally able to just push those worries away for a few days... before they come back with a vengeance. So, when asked for a statement of goals, I tend to get a little panicky.
The long term goal I've nurtured with maternal care ever since writing my first 80 page "novel" at age fourteen: I want to publish. And I don't just want to publish anything, no, I want to publish a book. A novel. My very own magnum opus, complete with my very own dedications page (and, later, my very own paycheck.) It's never been about the money for me. I want to live comfortably but not lavishly. A little cabin in the woods, a couple of chickens and a dog or cat or two. Windows. Light. Books. Grass, trees, vegetation, nature. Solitude. These are my simple dreams. You look at Walt Whitman and see a grungy bearded man with some weird enthusiasm for nudity, I see a person whose been so touched by the world he can't help but write about it. So, yes. Maybe in a way my long term goal is to be a hermit novelist in the middle of bumblefuck USA, but to each their own, alright? As for the novel in question, it's in its infant stages of drafting and worldbuilding and due to school deadlines I've been unable to muse as much as I want, but Jahn-Clough said something to Markirah and I that really stuck with the both of us: "The summer is precious." Oh, but it is but it is! Only a few more weeks to go.
Short term goals are what really scare me. Short term goals turn my stalwart Dr. Jekyll into a frothing Mr. Hyde. I've always been something of a procrastinator, and as my college career nears its end I just keep telling myself, "Oh, it's alright. You've got two years before you graduate." And then, "You'll be fine. You've got a whole 'nother year left." Followed by, "One semester is still a long time. You know how slow spring tends to crawl..." But it hasn't crawled. It hasn't crawled at all. It's been racing, sprinting, hurtling, and just like that we're in the middle of April and I'm shoving my worried mouth full of discount Easter candy. I still have one semester left--a summer class. I consider this a blessing, a time I will use to get my affairs in order. While I haven't sent a piece out for publication since October, once this semester ends I'm going to jump back on that submission horse and dig my spurs so far in her sides she won't stop running until I've received a yes. Last summer I was pretty doom and gloom about my submissions. I received about 8 rejections all together. But they've hardened me. And, with the recent honor of receiving first place in the Denise Gess Literary Awards, I'm feeling a bit more hopeful. I'll spend this summer writing, submitting, editing, and looking for work--and that doesn't sound too bad at all.
The long term goal I've nurtured with maternal care ever since writing my first 80 page "novel" at age fourteen: I want to publish. And I don't just want to publish anything, no, I want to publish a book. A novel. My very own magnum opus, complete with my very own dedications page (and, later, my very own paycheck.) It's never been about the money for me. I want to live comfortably but not lavishly. A little cabin in the woods, a couple of chickens and a dog or cat or two. Windows. Light. Books. Grass, trees, vegetation, nature. Solitude. These are my simple dreams. You look at Walt Whitman and see a grungy bearded man with some weird enthusiasm for nudity, I see a person whose been so touched by the world he can't help but write about it. So, yes. Maybe in a way my long term goal is to be a hermit novelist in the middle of bumblefuck USA, but to each their own, alright? As for the novel in question, it's in its infant stages of drafting and worldbuilding and due to school deadlines I've been unable to muse as much as I want, but Jahn-Clough said something to Markirah and I that really stuck with the both of us: "The summer is precious." Oh, but it is but it is! Only a few more weeks to go.
Short term goals are what really scare me. Short term goals turn my stalwart Dr. Jekyll into a frothing Mr. Hyde. I've always been something of a procrastinator, and as my college career nears its end I just keep telling myself, "Oh, it's alright. You've got two years before you graduate." And then, "You'll be fine. You've got a whole 'nother year left." Followed by, "One semester is still a long time. You know how slow spring tends to crawl..." But it hasn't crawled. It hasn't crawled at all. It's been racing, sprinting, hurtling, and just like that we're in the middle of April and I'm shoving my worried mouth full of discount Easter candy. I still have one semester left--a summer class. I consider this a blessing, a time I will use to get my affairs in order. While I haven't sent a piece out for publication since October, once this semester ends I'm going to jump back on that submission horse and dig my spurs so far in her sides she won't stop running until I've received a yes. Last summer I was pretty doom and gloom about my submissions. I received about 8 rejections all together. But they've hardened me. And, with the recent honor of receiving first place in the Denise Gess Literary Awards, I'm feeling a bit more hopeful. I'll spend this summer writing, submitting, editing, and looking for work--and that doesn't sound too bad at all.