More On Dreams

A couple years ago, I wrote about following your dreams. Lots of us dream about all kinds of things: travel, meeting someone special, meeting a famous writer or… I guess an actor or something. Writers are cooler.

*ahem*

Anyway. I thought I would revisit that post and revise it to include some of what I’ve learned since I first wrote the post.

I do this because, honestly, it’s at times hard to know what to tell my kids about following their dreams. I have spent years off and on following my dreams. I lost all of our money years ago pursuing a dream of being a financially stable business owner. I spent a few years working full time as a freelance writer and trying to make writing be the focus of my work life– and what supports the family. Despite small successes here and there, I failed at the ultimate dream of living off and providing well from my writing. This is an important place to stop and think about this concept!

small success   vs    ultimate dream

Back then, it was so disheartening to feel like I was on the right path, again, doing what I loved, again, and then ultimately failing. Again.

So after grieving the defeat of another dream, I went back to work. And really put my head down after making a serious plan with Annemarie. We pushed at that plan and it came to fruition ten months later with me landing my first real job with actual benefits that wasn’t teaching in a classroom (which I love, but will never pay me properly). Things got better as we stayed focused and worked with real purpose. Daily effort towards our goal lifted us- and it was awesome.

Then extraordinary and life-changing 2014 happened and we made it through. We were changed. Broken and rebuilt better. And off we went on this Amazon and Washington/Seattle/but really a small town adventure. It’s harder than I thought it would be. It’s so taxing and I feel so exhausted sometimes and my bed is only a few steps away. But not yet. I have writing to do because making a good living as a writer is the only real, important dream that hasn’t come true for me yet and I don’t have any reason to not make it happen. (I only had one other dream by the way: have a family.)

And we got our foster daughter with all of the miracles associated, so it’s interesting to see how new dreams crop up as we say “yes” to unexpected and maybe even unsought for opportunities. I would never change a thing about this Washington adventure.

So as always, I’ve been thinking about dreams and work, probably because I feel like I’m almost always doing it. And for creative folks (which is pretty much everyone), we have very similar dreams. I list some of mine and the comments I have on them now that I know a little better. Yours are probably similar.

  1. Publishing a book will be the culmination of my writerly hopes and dreams!

It’s not. It’s the beginning. Actually, it’s not even the beginning. The beginning was when I chose the career dream of being a well-paid full-time writer. Publishing my first book was wonderful and a dream come true but it’s a milestone more than anything else. And like all milestones, it’s green and metal and you pass it pretty fast.

The passing it pretty fast thing is high truth. It goes and you realize.. wait, I have more work to do.

So back to work I go.

2. Everybody I know is fully invested in my dreams!

Not true. Many people I know are somewhat invested in my dreams because they’re wonderful people who just never seem to run out of space in their beautiful hearts. And if they can spare a ‘Like’ on Facebook, that’s really actually great of them. If they comment, that’s very sweet. If they buy one of my books- that’s near saintly. And reviewing? That’s worthy of deification.

This isn’t to say you’re on your own. You have love and support and people who won’t give up on you.

But you are on your own. You want this? You want to reach your dream? You’re on your own. (Unless you get ridiculously lucky- and frankly that luck might just ruin you as a person.) Your fingers type those words. Your feet run those miles. Your hands build that business plan. So draw on your support when you can, but remember- you want this thing. It’s entirely up to you.

So it’s back to work.

3. I’ll be satisfied if I can just get a book published!

Nope. Not a chance. You’ll be so giddy you jump out of your skin. It will hit you multiple times and it will feel surreal and it will be immensely gratifying. You should pause and soak in the beautiful validating experience. Own it, recognize it. 

Then accept that the feeling passes. You’re not satisfied and you shouldn’t be. You see those bestsellers? Those people who work their butts off to write stuff that is sometimes better than yours and sometimes not as good?

You want to be that. You want to do that.

So it’s back to work.

What I’m saying is that dreams are a spark in life. They’re not something to be ignored or shuffled aside for practicality’s sake. We should follow our dreams. I think we must, that by doing so we stay young and maintain the ability to see and feel wonder and awe and pure excitement. And I will firmly state that Father in Heaven approves of our dreams. He probably doesn’t like my vanity, but He surely wants me to feel fully engaged in my life and to do things that I’m passionate about.

But the saying that if you love what you do, you never work a day in your life is popular garbage. Realizing dreams is non-stop work. It’s daily homework. It’s exhausting and it requires regular priority examination and re-adjustment.

It is work, it is work, it is work. It’s delicious exhaustion. It’s a passionate daily grind. It’s a boring daily grind sometimes too.

I will tell you that choosing the work that I do with my life, the place I put my best energy, is the greatest feeling ever. I look forward to the day that it is my only career. But until then, I’m going to keep working daily. I’ll take appropriate breaks and I’ll enjoy the ride, to be sure.

So I tell my kids that dreams can become reality. Those dreams becoming reality looks a lot like work.

Now, what are your thoughts on that vs up there? Small successes vs ultimate dream. Do we too often not see the beautiful trees because we just want a forest, dadgummit?

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A Plan for All and a Plan for Each

Warning: I am going to be unabashed in my language and enthusiasm about my faith right now. Read on if you dare.

For the meantime, many of the names in this story are being changed, just to be safe.

Last night a remarkable thing happened.

But it could only have happened because of what occurred three years and nearly five months ago. And because of all that has come to pass since then- based on the choices my family and I have made and the choices other inspired people have made.

I tell you now, God is real. I think coincidences are real things that happen and I also know that this was not a coincidence. It was a miracle. The manifestation of God’s merciful, loving hand guiding and nudging and arranging. And my family and I get to be both witnesses and tools in His hand.

In January of 2014, my wife, Annemarie, was diagnosed with kidney cancer. The cancer was found because she was pregnant and something seemed off to her, so we went to the hospital to have an ultrasound and other needful tests. And the pregnancy only happened because of lots of prayer, heartfelt conversations, and a decision to trust God. We felt revelation was leading us to have another child- and that revelation ended up saving Annemarie’s life.

So after the surgery and recovery and finally feeling ourselves settle back into a new normal, I think we both had an epiphany: life is short. Death is real. It’s not the end, but it’s the end of this existence, so maybe we should go milk this existence for all it’s worth. We were open for possibilities, my friends. And excited about what lay ahead.

Then I was laid off in July in a shameful way. I was angry. Anger motivates me and I decided to ‘show them’ by pushing my Instructional Design career as far and as fast as I could. I took courses. Built a network. Contracted for American Express. Took more courses and got certifications. Got a job at Bluehost to help revamp their training.

Then Amazon called. After a great interview cycle and trip, we got a job offer. We’d been warning the kids that this might happen and that we might take the job- necessitating a move to Seattle. We were surprised and thrilled. We talked and prayed. We were hesitant but excited. It was time to do new things- the whole family needed the experience. We felt Heavenly Father’s approval. We took the job.

The family came up in June of 2015. After our offer on a house north of Seattle was basically ignored, we turned our attention south. We ended up buying a pretty new, lovely house in Black Diamond, about an hour south of Seattle. We are across the street from a lake. The street is a gravel road that extends north and south in front of our house- south into a deep forest of trees and hidden houses. That’s important foreshadowing right there.

We settled in. My work was insane and hard and full of pressure and changing all the time. Annemarie homeschooled child 2 and 3 (boy and girl) while children 1, 4, and 5 all went to school. Child 6 was still too young for school so he stayed home.

As the new school year began in 2016, I hit an enormous home run that settled my job down a ton and made me start traveling a bunch. And Annemarie got kids into schools all over the place, with the oldest doing a mix of high school and college, and the rest of the kids in schools all over the map. She drives a lot these days.

Our daughter, Lily, ended up being the only kid going to the school that the school district expected her to go to. Cedar Heights Middle School. She takes the bus to and from school. She’s having an overall good experience there.

Soon after the school year began, Lily started bringing a friend home, a tall, cheerful girl named May. May and Lily waited at the same bus stop in the morning and they became good friends. And then May was at our house nearly every afternoon, playing video games, goofing with the kids, and just being herself. We thought she was a bit of a nut and really liked her a lot.

One rainy Saturday in October, she showed up at our door wrapped in a blanket and shoeless. She said she’d been kicked out of her house by her mom. By now, her mom knew who we were, and an hour or so later, someone from May’s house showed up with unmatching shoes.

We kept May with us that day, warming her and feeding her and comforting her. We didn’t pry much. She cheered up fast and played. She ate dinner with us. We make a mean homemade ‘Whatever Noodles & Cheese’.

A police officer showed up at 8PM, asking if she was with us, saying that her mother had reported her missing. Which is silly in light of the fact that we had a pair of unmatched shoes as evidence she knew where her daughter was. We talked to the officer for a while and we decided May would spend the night at our house, crashing in Lily’s room on an air mattress. The officer said, “The more time she’s away from that house, the better.” Turned out that May and her mom, Fran, lived there out of her mom’s friend’s kindness. Fran’s friend was the owner/renter (I dunno). But Fran’s friend was addicted to drugs and the home was firmly on the radar of law enforcement. And May, it turned out, had been in foster care several times throughout her life, due to Fran’s own struggles with alcohol and drugs. In fact, May had a brother who had been legally taken in by Fran’s mother years before.

So May spent the night with us and came to church with us the next day. She liked it a lot. And a routine was born! She came over every Saturday with a bag of clothes and spent the day and night and part of Sunday with us. I started jokingly referring to her as ‘weekend daughter.’ She played and played and wrestled and got loud and played and more.

Our kids were champions. They didn’t blink. They just welcomed their new weekend sister with no hesitation. We’d talked to them after the first weekend, making sure they understood what was happening as well as possible. But they didn’t pry and didn’t complain. Annemarie and I talked sometimes about what May’s home life must be like. We got a look at it sometimes because one or both of us would walk May home on Sunday afternoons.

I felt a lot of empathy for her. I saw her ability to read a room really fast and the way she keys in on adults’ moods instantaneously and recognized it. I do the same and have for as long as I can remember. And Annemarie was so good and gentle and warm with her.

Then May stopped coming. We asked Lily where May was and Lily said she thought May was sick. This went on for a couple weeks and Lily said she actually wasn’t sure what was going on. She hadn’t seen May in school for a while. We tried to get in touch with her, but only finally succeeded several weeks later when May replied to an email sent by Lily.

May had been taken out of the home after a drug raid. She was with a foster family.

Annemarie and I talked it over in I think sixty seconds. We were going to go get May and bring her into our home. Period. Annemarie made the call to Child Protective Services I believe on a Wednesday about 10 days before Christmas. We picked May up two days before Christmas. We weren’t licensed foster parents, but were deemed ‘Suitable Alternatives’ due to our history with her. We figured we had an agreement with CPS and the case worker that they would help us get started down the road of becoming official foster parents.

May has been with us ever since. Annemarie supervised regular visits between May and her mom while Fran still lived in the house down the road. But finally Fran left that house and went to a women’s shelter in Kent, about 20 minutes away. Annemarie supervised a few more visits with Fran.

Also, before all of this began, Annemarie took the LSATs and got a great score. She was offered a prestigious scholarship at BYU in Utah and she accepted, so we had plans to move there before Fall of 2017. CPS and the case worker knew that as everything unfolded. In fact, the case worker indicated he thought it would probably work out fine to have May come with us and she could come up to Washington regularly to see her mom. We were down with that.

May’s health overall improved. We got a great loft bed to put in the girls’ room and those two girls decked that bed and room out very impressively. Christmas lights and gossamer, guys. May decided to take lessons from the missionaries from our church. She prayed and studied and decided to be baptized. I baptized her on March 4th, learning that her full name was May Marie Call. Fran was there and was very emotional. She wasn’t moving very well, using a walker, but she was so clearly happy that May was doing so well.

Then, while I was abroad, we got the unexpected and heartbreaking news that Fran had passed a few weeks later. We still don’t know the cause.

After a few days of grief and quiet, May mentioned adoption. We were all for it. The case worker thought it was a great idea. Paperwork and the process are underway and are frustratingly slow. We know it will all work out, but we pray it works out quickly. One of the issues is that May’s father has been out of the picture since she was 3 or 4. He’d been in prison for a while, and then basically fell off the map. Nobody at CPS or Social Services has any clue about his whereabouts and he doesn’t seem to have a phone number. So the folks at CPS etc. began the process of filing a petition for termination of rights.

And May has us. But she misses her mother and is hurt by her father leaving.

Last Sunday, Sister Ballard came up to me and asked me if I would be able to help with the Young Women activity. They were going to go up to Seattle and talk to and feed homeless people in Pioneer Park with an organization called Mama’s Hands. They needed a second Priesthood holder, so Sister Ballard asked me. Which is a little odd. I’m traveling a lot and the ward knows it. But Sister Ballard clearly was led.

I, after a moment of stark-raving fear because I work long days already and talking to people, strangers no less, at the end of my long day is not my idea of fun. But the quiet voice in me yelled, “Jared, you want to help people out so put your money where your mouth is.” I said yes I could help.

My two girls, May and Lily, and I piled into my small Corolla. We picked up Destiny, May’s neighbor from before who had recently been baptized, and met at the church. With those three and Aeris packed in the car, we drove up to Bellevue, met the rest of the group again and Denny Hancock, the man who runs Mama’s Hands. I and the girls I’d driven up rode with Denny downtown. The big group split up and I took Lily and Aeris, hamburgers in tow, around the block to start handing out food. We talked to several people, got all the way back to the park, and handed another burger to a fellow sitting nearby his bike and shopping cart. We smiled and chatted a bit with him and then moved on.

By that time, my knee, which had recently had surgery, was pretty much done, so I looked for a place to rest.

That voice came again. “Fight the introversion. Talk to that guy with the bike.”

So I asked if I could sit with him. He said yes. His eyes were clear and he seemed eager to talk. I asked if he had any family. He said, with a small grin, “I was.. pretty fertile as a younger man.” He had several children with several women, it turned out. He said his last two were with his last wife (although I’m not sure if he said they were ever married). He pointed out that the last two were a boy, then a girl, and that the boy, Timothy Junior, had wound up being “signed over” to their mom’s mother.

Something went off in my head. I grew more interested. He said, “And my daughter, May Marie…” and I didn’t hear the rest because.. well.. you get it, right?

So I leaned in closer and got him talking more. I think I knew at this point exactly who this man was, but I had to be sure and I truly had no idea what on earth I was going to do once I got confirmation. And dear Father in Heaven could this truly be happening? Had I really just found May’s father?

He spoke of his life and relationships, how he struggled with drugs of all kinds and spent a year here and a year there in jail. He mentioned a detail I remembered hearing from May, about when she and her mother lived in a car. Finally, he said, “And sad to say I got a letter from the social services about two months ago saying she’d passed.” He mentioned that he thought he’d heard that the daughter he’d left all those years before was with family friends.

That was confirmation. I was on the edge of my rough concrete seat, beginning to shake. This was impossible. I asked him if he wanted to have his kids back. He quietly, with some shame, said he knew he couldn’t take care of them. He just wanted to know they were happy and safe. Finally, I said, “Hey, they’re all waiting for me over there. But I want to keep talking. Will you wait here for a minute? I’ll be right back.”

He said he would wait.

I stood. “My name’s Jared Garrett. What’s your name again?” I stuck out my hand.

“Timothy J. Call.” He shook my hand.

I walked away, asking God how and why and what I should do. I pulled out my phone, talked to Annemarie, told her what had just happened. We both were stunned. I asked her what I should do. She said she didn’t know. I said I was worried about hurting May, opening old wounds, but that maybe this would be really good for her. I admit I was also worried he might suddenly lay claim on MY daughter.

After talking to Annemarie, I was calmer, but still paralyzed. Didn’t know what to do. I told Sister Bolles and Sister Metler what had happened. They were stunned. I said a prayer, more emotion and pleading than words, and went back to Tim and had him sit down across from me.

“Tim. Okay.” Trust Father in Heaven. Say what He says. “I’m about to tell you something that is going to seem impossible. But it’s real because Father in Heaven loves you and wants you to turn fully to Him. He wants you to put your life in order, Tim.”

Tim leaned forward, interested.

I went on. “I know your daughter, May.” I thought I should start small. I was fearful. Didn’t know if I should reveal everything.

“You know my daughter?” He gulped and tears sprang into his eyes. “Is she okay?”

We talked for a minute and I told him she was okay. Told him she was with me and my family. That we loved her, that she was surrounded by love, that she had a sister and five brothers now.

He sprang to his feet. I did the same. He threw his arms around me and cried into my shoulder and I held him as tightly as I could, shaking, trying to stay upright, my chest and throat tight.

After a few minutes, I asked him if he could just wait one more minute because I needed to talk to my group, who was still waiting. I wanted to make sure I could reach him. He stayed standing, scrubbing his face.

I went to May, who was playing basketball with some people in the square. I sat her down. Pointed at the standing man. And trusting as much as I’ve ever trusted in Heavenly Father, I told her. “This is insane. It’s the hand of God and He loves you so much. That man’s your father.”

She got quiet and hunched forward, hands on her mouth, eyes wide. After a minute, I asked her if she wanted to meet him. She did. She said, “I saw him earlier and thought he looked familiar.”

I brought her over. “Tim. God loves you. This is a miracle. And this is your daughter.”

They hugged. He cried and cried. He finally stepped away, studying her face. “You got my nose.” His voice was small and he laughed. He gently pushed a lock of hair away from her face.

“I’m tall like you.” May looked between the ground and Tim.

Tim and I exchanged numbers as the Young Women leaders, then the Young Women, surrounded us, hugging May, speaking tenderly to Tim, and bringing sweetness and goodness in palpable waves. Tim told May and me that if May wanted to be adopted, he approved. May said she did. He said, “I just want you to be happy.”

Pictures were taken. Hugs never seemed to end. This must have been something like what the Day of Pentecost felt like. This is what being led not knowing feels like. This is beyond an honor or privilege, this is the power and manifestation of a Divine Father in Heaven who has a Plan for all and a Plan for each one of us. And plans inside of plans. And Who set in motion this to happen three years ago. Then sent the Spirit to whisper to Sister Ballard, “Ask Brother Garrett.”

I grew quiet for the rest of the evening, during the ride to Bellevue, then driving home. I later found out that the Young Women leaders were praying and intending to fast for a miracle that would help the process of bringing May fully into our home.

It’s early yet. I know it will work out. I’m still shaking.

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I Did Drugs in High School

Gotcha to click, didn’t I?

I didn’t actually do drugs in high school, but now that you’re here, stick around. What I actually did was a health class report on illegal substances. The report listed in detail the many illegal drugs out there and their extreme dangers.

Then I wrote a summary. I wanted to share it with you, because I found that it captured my voice back then really well.

To set the context: I had been in a cult up until 8 months before I wrote this. My oldest brother did in fact die due to drugs. When I wrote this, I was in my only year of actual public high school. I was an atheist at the time.

I’d love to hear/read your thoughts on this:

***

Well, this is the end of the report. It’s been a long and tedious road, but here we are.

Through my experience and through my learning about them, I have found that drugs are the most evil substance in this world. They are used as a hiding place, to hide from the trials and problems of the real world, which is taking the easy way out. I consider it the wimp’s way out.

But this kind of opinion is very close-minded [sic], and it doesn’t leave any room for other cases. Cases that are those that show human suffering, and the suppression of some of the kids in this world. The ones that unfortunately don’t see anything wrong with hiding in drugs.

I heard from one girl about how her boyfriend tied her up so she couldn’t move. He then gagged her so she couldn’t breathe through her mouth, forcing her to breathe through her nose.  Then he held a handful of cocaine under her nose, so that when she breathed, she would have to breathe it in. Now you know, people have to breathe some time, and she couldn’t hold her breath that long, she tried, but she couldn’t.

This was cocaine, so she pretty much got addicted to it right away, and she couldn’t help it.

You may say, “She should have picked a different boyfriend.” People aren’t always that smart, we would like them to be, but this isn’t paradise. And people change from drugs, her boyfriend could have started as a perfectly fine guy, then the drugs he was using could have caught up with him.

Besides, she had no idea there were people that weren’t like that; this kind of frightening life, and these kind of people were all that she knew. She didn’t know any better.

Well! you say. That’s where the problem is! Let’s try to get rid of this kind of community. Try is the operative word. We could no less do this than learn to grow wings and fly.

People are not perfect, heck, they’re not even close to perfect. You can’t expect unrealistic things out people who don’t see any reason to do anything a bout it. They don’t care about anyone but themselves. And they’ve been taught to be like this from day one, at school and most assuredly at home.

That’s where the problem is: at home. Parents may neglect the child or worse, beat it. They will learn that they are not good, and not worth the trouble, and so they will decided that the rest of the world is not worth the trouble. But no matter what we do, no matter what kind of concerted effort we put into changing this dying world, we won’t help or begin to help everybody. Which is less than perfect.

I think we should settle for less than perfect. Humans could never settle for anything, that’s the way we are, but I think we had better learn to settle for less than perfect. We should do all we can, for all those willing to have things done for them. We can’t change everybody. We have to settle for less than that.

We have to.

I heard a friend say he wanted to leave his home and run away. I said Why? He said because he wanted to. I asked him if he had thought about his parents and friends. He said, Does it matter? I mean, it doesn’t really matter in the big scene of things.

I wish he hadn’t said that.

***

Can you hear me in that little summary/essay? I can see the sprouts that would become who I am today.

 

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Newsletter is Imminent!

Howdy, faithful fans! Exactly one month late according to my goals in the previous post, the Garrish Army (the army of fans and readers and friends and even enemies trying to subvert the system because I am all about sticking it to the man) will receive its first ever newsletter!

The Garrish Army Dispatch will be sent out on March 1. It will include:

  1. Updates on current projects.
  2. An exclusive sneak peek of Usurper, the sequel to Lakhoni.
  3. Possible contests!

I’m so excited! Sign up right here.

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Bigger, More, and Pwnage

If you’ve been following me as a writer, friend, or general human person, you almost certainly know that I don’t have a whole lot of patience. This is good and bad.

With my kids, I need more patience. I’m working on that.

With my writing career, I have limited patience. Strategic patience. Not as much patience as snooty folks say I need to have. I don’t listen to snooty folks. I hear those stories of how this or that author submitted to sixty or a hundred agents or editors before finally getting the deal of a lifetime. You know, like world-famous Kathryn Stockett.

Kathryn Stockett? You don’t know who she is? She wrote The Help. That book that became a movie where the white girl saved the black people? That’s the one. The Help is her first book and it’s also her only book. And she got way lucky. And you don’t know who she is.

Now, I’m not criticizing her at all. I hear her book is pretty good and I liked the movie. You know what I liked more? The fact that she, as an author, got paid. She worked, wrote a story she loved and believed in, stuck her flag in that story and fought for it. She fought enough for it that she got some luck and traditional publishing paid her then paid her more by marketing her book into bestseller status.

Right. On. Sister.

But that’s not for me. I have a serious dislike for the idea that traditional publishing is the way to go because gatekeepers and whatnot. A pox on that idea. I want to be traditionally published with a big New York house. But I don’t want to be traditionally published because I need the validation that I’m a writer. I want it so I get paid finally.

Yes, finally. I’ve made royalties off my books. But if you factor in all the work I’ve done to write, revise, edit, market, etc my books, I’ve made about one cent per hour. Not exactly minimum wage.

In any case, I have a plan for 2017 and it focuses on what I can control, not luck. I’ll make my luck and I’m not going to be patient about it. I’ll write my books. And hoo boy do I have some books to get done. I’m going to continue to work my butt off so that when Lady Luck tosses me a bone, I am ready to catch it and- here’s the important part- add the bone to the bones I’ve already collected. Waiting on luck to build my writing career would be a fool’s move, but expecting luck while doing my damndest to succeed as a writer– that’s just how the universe works.

Not having patience has served me well. When I was laid off from a middling company in 2014 (you remember that, right?) did you think I would be working as a Senior Instructional Designer at Amazon 1.8 years later? You didn’t? Neither did I. But I decided to take my career seriously, took loads of classes, worked hard to crush my next job and the next one, got totally current with my industry, and spoke with confidence and vision with people who were considering working with me. Amazon called and boom, here I am. Travelling the world teaching people how to train and speak and manage groups and create learner-centric training that blows minds. By the time I’m done here, I will have taught 1000+ people.

So it’s high time I treat my writing career the same freaking way, right? Why? Because this is my first career choice, the thing I want to do. 2017 will be the year of pwnage. I will be everywhere in book and person form. My hand will grow tired of signing an endless stream of books.

Game. On.

Here’s what’s happening for the year 2017. The stuff I can control. Some of these have Craft at the beginning to indicate they are part of me becoming better at my job. All of this is aiming at moving my career forward so that I am doing two things: 1) earning actual money from my writing; 2) approaching the time I can write full time.

  1. Deploy a mailing list that is effortless for my readers/fans to use and simple for me to manage. (by February 1).
  2. Send updates, insider stuff, etc, via my mailing list once a month. (First one done by Feb 28, 11 total done by Dec 31.)
  3. Spend 2+ hours each week on marketing:
    1. Mailing list management
    2. Ad campaigns
    3. Testing keywords
    4. Social media promotions/contests
  4. Write 7000+ words/week.
  5. Complete Usurper, the sequel to Lakhoni, by January 31 and publish this year.
  6. Complete Showdown at Serpent Ridge (by March 31) and use it to query agents.
  7. Query five agents a week, starting April 1 at the latest.
  8. Complete outline and prewriting for my memoir.
  9. Craft: Write a middle grade story by August 31. This might be a bad story. I don’t care. I’m going to try it out.
  10. Transfer all of my websites etc to BlueHost. (by May 1)
  11. Craft: Write 10,000 words on the adult dramatic story I’ve been dying to write for five years. It’s called Void. Terrified by this one. Not sure it’s a story or if I just need to get it out of my system. 10,000 words will tell the tale. (by April 30)
  12. Craft: Write the horror story I’ve been sitting on for a year. It’s a short story, I think. (by July 31)
  13. Craft: Read 30+ books across all genres. My author friends publish enough this won’t be a problem.
  14. Craft: Complete at least one online writing course by December 31, 2016. This might just be me listening to all of the last season of Writing Excuses and doing all the writing prompts.

Pretty sure that covers it. What do you think? Doable? Insane? Not ambitious enough?

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