Resolutions are liquid promises left outside in freezing weather--they're gonna cloud over and snap. So like many a wise person, I don't make them.
Some years I write a list of my accomplishments the previous year, which I plan on doing--although it'll be private. This Sunday I was at a tea, a High Tea, mind you, hostessed by a friend and fine poet. At one point there were maybe thirty women in her typically small New York apartment, each of whom was jaw-droppingly accomplished.
We each shared a little of this past year and what we looked forward to in 2010. I think it has a beautiful look to it, this new year fast upon us, this 2010. Given the difficulties since 2001--even before the attack, there was the dotcom crash which effected me (the dotcom I worked for tanked); my mom's passing; and then 9/11.
I can't resolve to have my three works of fiction published because I'm too old and cranky to offer my body to any publishing executive--or at least with any efficacy. But I am going to try to get them published. "Them" means: my short story collection Name Varies, my novel--The To-Do List Manifesto, and my connected novellas--From the One End of Heaven in print. I didn't try at all this past year.
Maybe I'm inspired to write this because of the KCRW Bach-a-thon playing this week. Papa Bach was incredibly productive in all part of his life. He had that genius thing going for him, by which I mean he didn't hesitate. He wrote.
I will finish editing/writing the second novella of From the One End of Heaven, which is A Vote for Ross Perot. I will write letters to agents. I want money for the novels. I'm on unemployment insurance, which is, of course, a blessing, but not working or rarely working means I am alone too much.
I feel like I'm blabbing. Time to clock out. See you soon.
Bach at the organ from: