The New Year list – best of / worst of / resolutions – thing always bothers me. I mean, it’s great seeing (some of!) the lists but New Year as a date is just a day. It’s not Christ’s birth (if you’re Christian and actually believe we know when one particular bloke was born all that time ago) or the shortest day (from our pre-Christian past); it’s just a day. In the same way that the millennium was just a side-effect of our human need to label things, tally time.
So arbitrary 365-day chunk of time labelled 2011 is almost over, to be followed by 366 days of leap year 2012.
I made one resolution* last year and I kept it. First time that’s ever happened.
I didn’t write prose as much as I should – or would have liked to – but I did write some poetry, even subbed the odd bit here and there (very odd bits most of my friends would say), and began to enjoy the performance/reading aspects of poetry.
And I began this blog (last February, so it’s almost a year old – it’ll be toddling, next).
I’ve been inspired and fascinated reading other peoples’ journeys – life and writing. Meeting people, workshopping, chatting, watching, learning. I feel like I’m absorbing stuff, soaking up writing. Maybe I’m at the chrysalis stage; I’ve done the very hungry maggot – gobbling grammar, structure and so on – instar; now it will all magically stew inside me till, suddenly, I will erupt as a writer, my prose vibrant, new and vivid as a butterfly’s wings.
Or atractive as a cockroach.
Maybe I just need to get on with some writing.
*And what was my resolution? To ignore resolutions. I’m keeping it again this year.