I Failed at my 2022 Goals but Won the Creative Writing Game Anyway

In January 2022, I set myself three clear writing goals.

1. Finish editing the sequel to my first novel, Feeding Frenzy: Curse of the Necromancer.
2. Complete, illustrate, and publish the third junior novel in my comical Saltwater Spy School series.
3. Submit a whack of short stories to top markets like Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine and The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction.

I failed at my 2022 goals, completely dropping the ball on my fishy kids’ spy novel.

There were small wins. I submitted short stories, and some received the best kind of rejection letters, which ends in “send us more.” In my impatience, I published a few on Medium instead, but I haven’t fully explored publishing fiction there.

I edited my urban fantasy novel daily during July and part of August, then sent it to beta readers. They returned feedback in November/ December.

Did I I failed at my 2022 goals? Yes.

Does it feel like a failure? No.

The goal list doesn’t come close to describing what I did last year or my supremely legitimate excuses. 😉

In July, I discovered Medium, which siphoned many writing hours away from fiction. During the summer, I took a 6-week course on copyediting and crammed in a second course on web writing. A course, on becoming a full-time indie novelist, convinced me I’m not ready.

Learning goes both ways

I researched and taught workshops for writers: Web 3.0 for Writers and Writing Unforgettable Kids’ Books. I also attended a couple of conventions where I gave readings and spoke on panels.

In 2022, my monthly newsletters for readers of urban fantasy and mystery grew to over 2000 subscribers. It’s my way of keeping readers interested during the long editing process. Each month, I offer free ebooks by authors writing urban fantasy, mystery, paranormal mystery, and science fiction. Sometimes I write a short story, book review, or personal essay.

Get a free ebook when you join Loon Lake Fantasy Readers or my Mystery Reading group.

Grief

There have been personal setbacks. Last winter, my father took ill in Florida and rushed home for treatment. My mother-in-law passed away in July, and her burial and celebration of life took place in August to allow overseas siblings time to coordinate.

Grief sapped my energy to write the book after The Hunt for Red Octopus. I was in no mood for comedy.

As an elementary rotary teacher, I work with around 160 students a week

Last spring, Ontario schools dropped COVID checks, masks, and the requirement to keep sick children home. Starting this fall, few young students wore masks and less than half of the older ones did. One day in November, while evaluating grade seven presentations, I realized every place I tried to stand in that classroom was close to a coughing student.

I worry about spreading COVID to my elderly father and vulnerable students. I mask up and update my shots, but risk is inevitable.

No more NaNoWriMo

Normally, every November, I get up at 5:00 a.m. to write before work. The result is a new novel for National Novel Writing Month. In past years, losing sleep in November made me sick by December. No big deal. It was an easy sacrifice for a new novel. Before COVID, teachers of young kids expected to get colds and the flu in the winter. That’s why it’s called flu and cold season, but in 2022, I didn’t want the risk.

Too much planning spoils the brew

The worst thing about goal-setting and market study is they quash creativity. As a kid, I made stuff to give away.

In high school, it was pottery. My favorite was an elephant-head teapot with a French beret and matching elephant leg cups, (before I grasped the colonialism of Babar the Elephant.) Mom loved the unusual tea set with its funny cup feet. She also accepted a polka dot bud vase entangled in vines with a protruding periscope. It made Mom smile. What more could I want?

Time won’t bend for me and I’ll never get my teen years (or my mother) back, but writing remains fun. The trick is to forget about selling.

What really matters?

I’ve worked as a career teacher for over twenty years, shunting writing into holiday time and stolen moments. With retirement looming, and mortality; it’s time to choose priorities over goals and celebrations over to-do lists.

From childhood, I’ve written stories, but what’s the point? Bookstores offer too many classics to read in a lifetime. My words won’t support a political cause, because I don’t have one. I lack the special skill, experience, fame, or identity to render my voice important. And if words don’t change history or sway society, what good are they?

In opposition to my academic and librarian training, I have learned books are ephemeral. Publishing won’t make us Shakespeare or render our thoughts eternal. Nothing lasts, but what remains is pleasure — mine and the reader’s.

My way is clear: to help others by making them smile or telling them about a cool book or personal discovery. That’s worthwhile. To grind out posts or chase algorithms feels silly in the face of mortality.

A saner plan is to throw each story like clay on the wheel. Some vases will warp, but crooked pots lead to better ones. On Medium, readers can decide which tales are delightfully imperfect, and which came out twisted.

Happy New Year! 

What are your plans for 2023?