as_damaged | ☤ fifty -three

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☤ fifty -three

I remember reading, somewhere, that upwards of eighty percent of New Year's Resolutions are abandoned, many of them within the first few weeks of the year. Whether that's because people tend to set unreasonable goals, or because the superstition surrounding New Year's Eve isn't strong enough to provide the necessary motivation, I can't say.

A more realistic goal would be to indulge in reflection a little more frequently, and not leave it all for the depths of winter. To change when change is necessary. To act instead of merely reacting. Manageable goals with concrete progress markers might not be as impressive as quitting smoking cold turkey, or losing a hundred pounds, or writing a novel, but they have a better success rate. That, at least, seems worth a resolution.

[ooc; ...convolutedly, that's her secret resolution. >> to be less passive and more of an agent in her life.]

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That's true. But unexpected abilities tend to manifest in times of dire need; for most tasks, psychologically speaking, there's an ideal, appropriate level of challenge. People who complete their resolutions tend to have a specific breakdown, or to form support structures.

True.

[ Pause... ]

Did someone you know commit to the idea of writing a novel as one of their resolutions?

[ He's...bemused. Among other things. ]

No one I know personally, but I'm sure several people at least do, every year.

But it's a decent example. There's a marked difference between saying, "I'm going to write a novel this year," and "I'm going to spend twenty minutes each day working on a novel this year." The latter you can't push off til next December; it's the same goal with a more structured approach.

Would you ever consider endeavoring to write one?

[He's aware there's a saying that everyone has a story in them but not necessarily a book. Or perhaps he has that slightly wrong. He's not positive.]

A novel? [She's not offended, she's just never entertained the idea. So she pauses, just a moment.] I don't think so. Fiction isn't really my forte.

Would you?

[ He hums some kind of acknowledgment there, pauses. ]

I don't know, honestly. I...suppose, one day.

There are things I should like to remember clearly for the rest of my life, and I know that how I think of them now may not be the way I see them in ten years or twenty.

Well, writing a memoir isn't quite the same as writing a novel. But I do think it's a good idea-- a reminder for how you saw the world now.

[ A pause yet again. ]

Well...of course, the things I remember would be perceived as fiction, by and large, you know.

[ He keeps his voice almost appreciably mild, not dismissive, but almost...careful. ]

Well, that would be a publishing concern. But no reason not to write.

[She'd have a harder time taking his story seriously, if not for the whole were-adult thing.]

[ THANK GOODNESS for were-adultness ;; lmff...well, maybe....sometimes Peter considers that he must be responsible enough to remember he won't even have a day out of a month when he leaves, that this is a gift not to be weakened simply for having it at all... ]

In the event of actually writing it, I half expect I would keep it within the family anyway.

[ His laugh is soft and a little rough and very much like the kind of shrug people use to move on in a conversation. ]

What sorts of writing do you like?

These days, really, it's all I can do to stay up to date on medical journals.

[She sounds amused. And, after a moment's pause, adds:]

I like Henry James, though. The Golden Bowl.

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☤ fifty -three

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