New Year’s resolutions have never been my thing. Having had a good Calvinistic upbringing, I’m a natural self-corrector. If I’m aware I’m doing something wrong, I attempt to change my behavior right away. This makes annual reviews at work exceptionally uncomfortable for me. I’d much rather have my boss point out foibles as they happen so that I can stop doing them right away. I realize my mindset here may be weird to those who were raised in more normal ways, and employers love process. So I sit here in Ithaca on New Year’s day, preparing to drive home to face all kinds of unfinished business from 2019. I’m still doing research for Nightmares with the Bible, thus it’s not ready to go back to the publisher or series editors yet. I’ve started a new round of queries to agents about one of my novels, but I haven’t sent them yet. And don’t even mention projects that need to be done to the house.
Life is busy. I’ve taken on some new duties at the church I attend, exemplifying that old saw “If you want something done, ask a busy person.” As the pressures from that obligation mount, I start to think that most people don’t have any idea just how all-consuming writing a book can be. I work long days and although I don’t commute much any more, most of the rest of each day is taken up with writing and reading so as to write some more. I hesitate to call myself a writer since I make laughably little lucre from it. I can’t stop myself from doing it, though. And although it’s the season for resolutions, I don’t plan to stop. I know from work that graphomaniacs can be a problem. Anything can be overdone. On days when I don’t have to work I have to be pried away from my computer. Otherwise I’ll write all day long. It’s an issue, I know.
Perhaps because life on the national scale is so depressing, writing about things like horror movies is a great release. I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t had the chance to write pieces for venues like the excellent Horror Homeroom. I used to contribute to Religion Dispatches. That time has been sucked into getting my books that nobody will read finished. Having written that self-disparaging remark I have to remind myself that one of my alumni magazines published a notice about Holy Horror without me having to send said notice personally. That self-disparaging thing requires some fixing, I guess. And were I not too busy already in 2020, I’d start on it right now.