Having Goals

I'm no Pollyanna, but I'm pretty big on assuming everything will work out. Maybe not work out great, but satisfactorily, at least. In this life, that's pretty much all we can hope for. It's not good to have lofty goals; that's a disappointment waiting to happen. (There goes my career as a motivational speaker.)

Unless we're slugs, we set goals every day. We just don't recognize them as such. I want to get all the laundry washed and put away. That's a goal. I need to clean the litter box. (I didn't say they were huge goals.) It's when we allow ourselves to dream big that we get into trouble. That's why I try to never do that. 

Sometimes I slip up, though. Take Running From Herself, for example. At a certain point when I was writing it, I think it was once I determined that the Paula Barnes character would play a major role in the story, I realized it was actually good. I was shocked! When I'm writing a story, I'm focused on figuring out what happens next; what's the next logical step? Or illogical step (even better). But something switched on about midway into the story; a burst of inspiration. Suddenly I was invested in it; really invested. That's not to say that writing the full story was easy. I had some false starts, some missteps that I had to delete, but I recognized them and knew those scenes weren't true to Leah's narrative. Yes, I began to feel like I owed Leah a good story. She was a screw-up in many ways, but her heart was in the right place. I felt protective of her.

In the end, I knew this was the best story I'd ever written. I was damn proud of myself. This was the culmination of all my years of writing. I just knew that others would see that, too, so I would give it my all to get the novel into the hands of readers. My goal was to make Running From Herself a best seller.

Isn't that cute? Look! Silly writer girl thinks she's written a best seller! So precious.

See? This is where goals get you. This is why you shouldn't have them. It doesn't matter how good my novel is. It could be awful and I would have accomplished just as much in terms of sales. How does that old ad line go? The best book that no one is reading.

There are a few reasons why I'll never write another story. First and foremost, the desire isn't there. It could be burnout; I'm not sure. Laziness? No ideas? I haven't even tried to think of an idea, so I don't think that's it. Ideas come to me as I'm writing, not beforehand. I think the main reason is that I can't bear being disappointed again. I can't risk falling into the trap of knowing my story is good and believing that readers will reward its goodness. 

It's not that people don't read; they just don't read me. They don't want what I'm selling. Nothing is ever going to change that. Wishing won't work; advertising won't work. Nothing will work.

Write to please myself? Been there; done that. It's pretty empty, really. There's that initial burst of being pleased, and then it passes. And then you start referring to yourself as a loser.

Enough. 

Besides, it's time to go clean the litter box.