 by Francine Puckly
A new year. A blank slate. An empty calendar. With the holiday drain behind me and a relatively quiet month ahead of me, I sit down during the lull of New Year’s Day and begin my dreaming for the year ahead. A deep breath, a freshly brewed cup of chai warming my hands, my favorite pens and loose-leaf paper. These are my companions as I lay down my 2012 aspirations on paper. I learned early on in this writing journey that I cannot establish my career and writing goals in a vacuum. My love of family, music, photography and travel are intertwined with my writing life. My annual goals must encompass my personal and other creative goals. In addition, one-year goals feel too small to a procrastinator like me. One year isn’t far-reaching enough to encompass the larger creative projects and life goals I have. When I consider the size of the mountain I’m climbing on my way to publication of long manuscripts or in saving enough money to take a safari, I have to look beyond twelve months to put these plans in motion. I begin with three-to-five year goals. For me, giving myself these extra few years allows for vision. I don’t feel as constricted or filled with the same level of anxiety that short-term goals often induce. I dream bigger and better because the timeline is “so far out there” I don’t have to worry about the reality of each step…yet. So I sip my tea and let the questions roll in front of me. First, what was good about this past year? What were my accomplishments, and most importantly, did I astonish myself this year? Did I break out of my shell and try something new? Did I achieve a goal that I thought was impossible? Were my disappointments avoidable or just part of the journey? What goals were unrealistic? And are there any goals from last year that aren’t worth pursuing anymore? Once I have an understanding of the recent past I can look forward. Where do I want to be career-wise in five years? Will I have one or two manuscripts ready for publication? With respect to travel, will we have taken the trip to Montana as well as vacationed in Spain? What is an affordable and realistic timeline? Then I consider my passion for photography, music, and outdoor exercise. I enjoy these activities and am happiest when they are part of my daily and weekly life. I make sure they are incorporated into my calendar along with other activities. I break these five year goals into relatively solid yearly goals for the next several years. Only then can I begin filling in the details or activities necessary to meet my 2012 goals. These goals translate into quarterly, then monthly, and finally weekly tasks. All of the activities should move me toward the December 2012 goals, keeping an eye on 2013 and 2014 as well. These goals and tasks are my guiding beacon in the months ahead. My planning process is not rocket science, but this exercise is something I look forward to each year. I steal a couple of hours away from the holiday hubbub to make myself and my dreams a priority. Just for a day. Just for a week. Just for a year. Because in front of me is a new year, a blank slate, an empty calendar, and a small list of carefully chosen and achievable goals.
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 Zinnias - Hyde Park, London by Francine Puckly
As many of us step into the final days of preparation for Hanukkah and Christmas, I personally stare down the draft of a young adult manuscript I had hoped to finish by year-end. Each day that passes finds me more and more frazzled and bewildered, due in part to the physical and emotional drain of the holidays but also the physical and emotional drain that accompanies a long-term project. My days feel wobbly, and I’m in a constant state of trying to establish balance. My goals partner, Martha, encourages me to plug ahead by saying, “If life is balanced, you’re not pushing yourself hard enough.” Several times a day this reminder sustains me so that I can keep moving toward my goals. As I’m sure it is with most of you, my life isn’t balanced. Sick and injured children, an unexpected death of a family member and his funeral, and the general chaos of holiday shopping and entertaining have left me dragging into the final writing weeks of 2011. I’m disappointed that I probably won’t hit my annual writing goals, but I must move forward regardless. And this movement begins with my secret writing spot. I have promised myself (and my goals partner!) that I will report to my writing location each day between now and Christmas Eve. One solitary hour a day. I expect most days I will work on my manuscript, but alternatively I might meditate or write holiday cards to dear friends or read from the current novel I’m savoring. But this daily commitment to be creative will sustain me through the final days of my project, as well as the holiday season. I will come close to hitting my writing goals, but more importantly, I will be rewarded with an hour of balance in my unbalanced world.  Two new writing partners in my life: Cora and Sid by Francine Puckly
The holiday crush is upon us. The buying, the eating, the merry-making. But what about my writing? This time of year it typically falls into the oblivion. “I have too much to do. I have friends to see and presents to wrap. I’ll pick it up January 2nd and make a fresh start in the new year.” But in the deep, dark crevices of my soul, these excuses are just that—excuses. I’m disappointed when I sell out to the holiday hubbub. This December my goal is to push myself creatively instead of financially. I am rallying to finish yet another draft of my first young adult novel. I have a vision. I have outlines and other necessary infrastructure. But that’s only the first hill to climb. After that, I need time. Yes, I have the same twenty-four hours in a day that Albert Einstein and Mother Teresa had, but I repeatedly divide it into little chunks and spend it frivolously. I can blame it on the mundane tasks I must tackle each day, but that’s really not my problem. My problem is that I’m easily distracted. A five-minute phone call derails me for thirty minutes. Making a decision about dinner could take twenty-five minutes, even with the duplicate frozen meals I’ve stocked in the freezer. Vacuuming takes forty-five minutes because I discover a magazine on the floor I didn’t quite finish…it’ll only take a second. My solution? I have had the great honor of finding a writing partnerand a goals partner. Two different writers. Two very crucial roles. Two people who have gifted me with renewed hope that I’ll finish this mountain of a manuscript. My goals partner, Martha, is a fellow writer from my critique group with whom I must check in weekly—every Friday morning at 7:45 a.m.—whether I’ve written a word or not. And I can assure you, the thought of getting on that phone call having done nothing panics me. Not that she’s an ogre. Not that she’ll hurt me if I don’t do it. But I will have disappointed myself by having to say, “I didn’t get to anything this week.” Martha also helps me set realistic, achievable goals. When left to my own devices, I say things like, “This week I’ll write 40,000 words, paint the family room, sew new curtains, host a dinner party, and bake and frost a three-tier cake.” My goals are more sensible now. “Write for thirty minutes each day” or “Finish chapter three” or “Draft three scenes that I’ve marked ‘missing’ in the manuscript.” And no cakes are getting baked and frosted. Eventually I’ll hit those 40,000 words, especially with the help of my writing partner, Sonja. Sonja is a fellow writer who invited me to sit in her writing space once a week. We settle in at a glass table across from each other and work on our own manuscripts. We share hot tea, almonds, dried fruit, and our love of writing. Words are exchanged before and after, but never during. No distractions. No excuses to go see what’s taking that dishwasher so long or to make that phone call to the vet. Does it help that Sonja’s writing space is a renovated choir loft in a church-turned-art gallery? Yes, indeed. It’s a beautiful, soul-sustaining gem of a space. But most importantly, it allows my writing to be the priority for a few sweet hours. So this holiday season take heart and take time. Let the gift of your manuscript be the priority. Finding time and setting goals take a little creativity, but figure out what will work for you. Dangle a reward carrot and recruit another artist to help you through. The shopping can wait, but the manuscript or illustration shouldn’t have to. by Francine Puckly I spent much of my teen and twenty-something years with running shoes strapped on my feet, jogging down lonely stretches of dirt roads in search of the satisfaction and peace that come from solitude and extreme exertion. Most days it only took a mere four or five miles to find that satisfaction, but other days it required eight or ten miles before I was beaten into submission and had chased the demons of doubt from my life. The logical outcome of all this running was competition—putting my running “out there”, so to speak. And while I completed in numerous 10k’s and half-marathons, I never conquered the ever-dreaded marathon…until 2009. That January I set off on a five-month training program to gear up for the Vermont City Marathon, held in Burlington, VT over Memorial Day weekend. I wanted my training to have minimal impact on my family, so my alarm sounded each morning before dawn. I ate a “sensible” breakfast and set off on foot down the road. I resisted using my iPod as an escape. Instead I slogged through the miles, just me and the road, a few zero-degree mornings, and the occasional rogue bulldog trying to get me to increase my pace and heart rate. Training isn’t glamorous. No crowds line the streets to cheer you on or hand out orange slices. No music plays at mile-markers. You don’t get to wear a fancy new t-shirt. And nobody wraps you in a blanket when you’re done. It’s just you and your determination to complete the self-imposed task at hand. Day after day after day. People ask you why? Why are you doing this to yourself? You answer, “Because.” These same well-meaning people suggest more productive ways you could be spending your time. And most importantly, they wonder out loud why you would do something that requires so many hours of your time when you end up right back where you started. But you persevere despite your own doubt. And then the time comes to put yourself “out there”. To run the race. And of course it’s raining. And of course the conditions are not what you trained for. But you get out there anyway, slogging away the miles, fighting the demons in your head that say you can’t do it and that you’ll never finish. And then something miraculous happens. You DO finish. And the only other people who can share in your emotional and physical exhaustion are fellow runners hobbling over the finish line with you because they were crazy enough to do it, too. I now spend most of my adult life with a pen stuck in my hand and wide-ruled paper in front of me or with a laptop screen pulsing in my face. I cannot use the internet or e-mail or Facebook to escape the task at hand. I must flesh out characters and settings and plots, oftentimes ending the day in the exact same spot I began it. I head down lonely stretches of days in search of the satisfaction and peace that comes from solitude and extreme exertion. Writing isn’t glamorous. No crowds line your driveway awaiting future book signings. No heavenly harps play when you finish a chapter. You wear grungy sweatpants and t-shirts that you’d better not sport in public in case you get into an accident, and nobody brews you a cup of tea at the end of the day when your head is spinning with information. It’s just you and your determination to complete the self-imposed task at hand. Day after day after day. It takes months and sometimes years. And then you have something. You have stamina and resolve, two under-appreciated commodities. And you have a book. And then you must put yourself “out there”. You must run the race you’ve been training for. And of course it’s raining rejection letters. And of course the conditions (public sales pitches) are not what you were training for. But you get out there anyway, slogging away the miles, fighting the demons in your head that say you can’t do it—until you reach the elusive finish line of contracts and negotiations.  With my family the night before the Vermont City Marathon, May 2009
 by Francine Puckly
Last week I welcomed the summer solstice on a glorious sunny afternoon. I almost didn’t take notice, however, because I was frantically wrapping up my to-do list. A couple days later my kids leapt off the giant yellow heap of metal one final time, screaming for joy and rejoicing in their new-found freedom, while I ran screaming in the opposite direction because I had left sixteen unfinished writing projects on my agenda. How did I not finish? And what on earth did I do with all that time during the school year? It doesn’t matter. School’s out for the summer, and so is my writing. I have long waved the white flag of surrender when it comes to mixing mass quantities of writing with heavy doses of my children. Despite numerous attempts to create an emulsion that looks like a blended lifestyle to the naked eye, I’m always left with two distinct layers. They do, however, have one common thread: unhappiness. Unproductive days spent at the keyboard due to a multitude of interruptions, and unhappy, caged children pacing, circling, waiting to play. Even as my kids enter the tween and teen years, they still need and/or want my attention. Guilt gnaws at my conscience. We should be biking. We should be playing tennis. We should be sitting on a beach together. Basically, I should be anywhere but in front of my laptop. So I “take the summer off.” I ceremoniously pack away my thesaurus and dictionary and tidy the notes from the most recent revision of the latest novel. I enter the delusional world of the schedule-less. Weeks stretch out in front of me with little or no agenda. The grind of insanity stops, and peace and harmony step forth in my life once again. Taking the summer off is easy to do as a yet-to-be-published author. It’s also a lie. Artists never take time off from craft; we just use the hours differently. Mental recharge. Filling the well. Rejuvenation. Restoration. Resuscitation. Call it what you will. Like a fine wine or cheese, our craft benefits from forced aging. Gone are word count goals. Instead, novels, gardening tombs, and travel guides beckon. Letters from old friends ask me to re-read and answer them while I lounge on a blanket in the backyard. Flowers, ready to bloom, nod and beg me to get rid of the creeping charlie draining the nutrients from their soil. These are the summer pastimes that appear on the horizon. They promise to restore sanity and simplicity in my life. But most importantly, these activities are acceptable to my children. My daughter tags along with me in the yard, pulling weeds and chatting about her most recent social woes at school. My son pulls out a book of his own and sits next to me on a blanket, and we sip piña colada smoothies while devouring the words of others. These tranquil pastimes can be sprinkled amongst their demands for badminton or biking with little or no anguish. We are happy once again. But it is against my nature to sit still and abandon the tasks on the to-do lists I love to write, so I repeat the words of John Lubbock like a mantra. “Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time.” I train and retrain myself daily to take the required break I resist. So if this summer finds you facing a similar dilemma, let us step forth together into the glorious months of July and August. I wish you long, languid days free of appointments and full of ice cream, afternoon naps, rejuvenating words and beautiful images. May we be granted the wisdom to slow down and “be”, for the “doing” will be waiting for us the Tuesday after Labor Day. ~ Francine |
Francine PucklyFor more blogs, check out Francine's past blogs on goal setting and other writing topics at www.24carrotwriting.com. Archives
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