A New Chapter: My 2025 Writing Journey

They say everyone has at least one book inside them. Have you ever wondered if yours is a page-turner or just a 300-page apology letter to yourself for procrastinating? As I stand at the doorstep of 2025, I’m determined to find out. This is the year I’ll finally stop talking about writing a book and actually write it—while launching a blog series to document the chaos. Ambitious? Perhaps. But what’s a resolution without a healthy dose of delusion?

The Dream That Refuses to Die

Dreams are funny things. They’re like those plants you forget to water but somehow refuse to die—wilting, sure, but stubbornly alive. My dream of writing a book has been like that: resilient, annoying, and impossible to shake. For years, I’ve carried it around like an emotional support carry-on bag through the airport of life. Too heavy to ignore, yet, somehow, small enough to keep putting off. And every time I read a novel that makes my heart race or a blog that leaves me clutching my sides in laughter, I think, I could do that.

Imposter syndrome is like that annoying little gremlin in my head. It shows up when I least expect it. It whispers, “Are you really good enough? Can you handle this?” Kind of like a TSA agent digging through your bag finding all your snacks. I’ve let that little pest win way too often. It’s about time to kick it to the curb! I’ve ignored my own skills more times than I’d like to say.

Dreams are like that one friend who never takes the hint to leave—annoying but kind of endearing. This year, I’m done dodging what I love. Self-doubt? It’s just a bad roommate I’m finally kicking out. My stories are ready to break free. My characters are like actors pacing backstage, itching for their time to shine. The plot twists? Oh, they’re more dramatic than a reality TV reunion special—get ready for the tea to spill! This whole journey has me so hyped, I’m losing sleep over it, like that 2 a.m. Taco Bell craving you can’t ignore. I don’t know where this wild ride is headed, but I’m strapped in and ready for the chaos!

I’m done letting my dreams gather dust while my Netflix queue gets longer. I’m over waiting for a “lightbulb moment” to hit. Time to make my own spark and see where it leads! Creativity works out like a muscle. You have to use it, even when you want to do anything else. What better time than now to show off what I can do? It’s a new year, and I’m ready to flex my creative muscles—because, let’s be honest, they’ve been hibernating long enough. This isn’t just another “new year, new me” checklist item. Nope. It’s about chasing what actually makes me feel alive—telling stories.

It’s that feeling of hitting the perfect note during karaoke, or finding the last piece of a puzzle... but, you know, without all the awkward off-key singing. It’s time to stop dreaming about what I could do and start doing it. 2025, here I come—hold the mic, I’ve got stories to tell. I’m trading my “what-ifs” for a keyboard and my excuses for some action. Let’s make it happen. If there’s one thing I know, it’s this: dreams don’t disappear. They just chill in the background, waiting for you to finally show up.

Why Now?

Why 2025? Because I’m done waiting for the “perfect moment.” Spoiler alert: it doesn’t exist. Sitting around hoping for the stars to align is just a fancy way of letting fear take the wheel. If I keep pushing this off, I’ll run out of reasons to delay before I run out of time. Honestly, who wants to look back and say, “I spent all my time mastering the art of binge-watching TV instead of chasing my dreams?”

Let’s be real: the world’s a hot mess. If there’s ever a time to create something that matters, it’s now. We all need stories that make us feel like we belong, like someone gets us, and maybe—just maybe—give us a tiny sliver of hope. If my writing can do that, even just a smidge, it’s worth every sleepless night and caffeine-fueled panic attack.

The Plan: Turning Chaos Into Creativity

Writing a book sounds romantic until you’re staring at a blank page, wondering if Microsoft Word’s blinking cursor is judging you. To avoid that particular spiral, I’ve mapped out a game plan. It’s equal parts strategy and survival guide:

1. Research and Brainstorming (January-February): Time to binge-read guilt-free. I’ll dive into my favorite genres and pick them apart. It’s like taking a storytelling class, except I pay in chips and cookies.

2. Outlining and Plotting (March): This is where I turn my wild ideas into something that actually makes sense. Imagine herding cats—except with fewer scratches (fingers crossed).

3. Writing the First Draft (April-August): My goal is 500 words a day. Manageable, right? If I stick to it, I’ll have a full draft by the end of summer. If not, well, there’s always NaNoWriMo to bail me out.

4. Revising and Editing (September-November): The first draft is just the skeleton. The real magic happens in revisions—or so I’ve heard. I’ll polish, tweak, and maybe cry a little.

5. Blog Series (Throughout the Year): To keep myself accountable (and sane), I’ll document the journey on my blog. Think behind-the-scenes sneak peeks, lessons learned, and probably a few posts titled “Why Did I Think This Was a Good Idea?”

Facing the Monsters: Doubt, Distraction, and Deadlines

Every great story has its monsters, and mine are no exception. But here's the kicker: these monsters don’t hide in the shadows. Nope, they’re sprawled out on my couch, raiding my snacks, and acting like they’re paying rent. Doubt, Distraction, and Deadlines are the roommates I never agreed to, and they’re louder than a popcorn machine on overdrive.

First up, Doubt. It’s the Regina George of my mental high school, popping up with its snide little “Who do you think you are?” It’s not just a whisper; it’s a full-blown TED Talk on why I should quit before I even start. Doubt doesn’t just creep in—it saunters, armed with a PowerPoint presentation of every past failure. But here’s the twist: I’ve learned that Doubt is just fear in a fancy hat. And fear? Fear is a lousy landlord. You can’t evict it, but you can charge it rent and make it pay for the privilege of hanging around.

Then there’s Distraction. Distraction is the siren song of modern life, promising dopamine hits from endless TikTok scrolls and the sweet escape of binge-worthy series. It’s the itch to reorganize my spice rack instead of writing the next chapter. Distraction is like a ninja in a hoodie—quiet, sneaky, and ready to mess with you when you least expect it. “Just check your email real quick,” it whispers, or “That article will totally change your life!” But not this year. I’m taking back control. Distraction doesn’t get to be the boss of me anymore. I’m the one with the keyboard. It’s time to act like it.

Deadlines are like that friend who hits you up last minute to hang out. But plot twist—they’re actually helping you. They don’t just track time; they’re stress experts with a PhD. First, they’re a light tap, nudging you to stay on track. Then, bam! Suddenly, they’re the ones setting off your panic alarm, like you’re late for a flight you never booked. They’re that group project partner who vanishes for weeks and then knocks on your door the night before, expecting you to whip up a miracle. But here’s the kicker: deadlines aren’t the villains—they’re more like the guardrails on a mountain road, stopping you from taking that sharp turn into “I’ll do it tomorrow.” They’re the heroes, keeping me from swerving into the “maybe someday” lane. This year, I’m giving them a cape and calling them my trusty sidekicks.

Every writer I admire—every novelist whose work I’ve devoured, every blogger who’s made me laugh until I cried—has faced these same monsters. They’ve wrestled with Doubt, stared down Distraction, and danced with Deadlines. The difference? They didn’t let them win. And if they can do it, so can I. Because here’s the truth: the only thing scarier than failing is not trying at all.

In the story of my life, I’ve made a decision: I’d rather be the hero slaying monsters with a sword in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, than the person sitting on the couch with popcorn, watching the chaos unfold. It’s time to stop being a spectator and start being the one who takes charge—because let’s be honest, popcorn’s only good if you’re not drowning in monster-sized problems.

The Blog: A Digital Diary for Dreamers

My blog won’t be a diary. It’s a place to connect, swap tips, and maybe inspire someone else to chase their dream. I’ll share the highs (like finishing a chapter) and the lows (when that chapter turns out to be trash).

Expect research insights, funny stories from my writing mishaps, and deep thoughts about what this whole crazy journey is teaching me.

And because I’m a sucker for a good theme, each post will end with a takeaway—a little nugget of wisdom or encouragement for anyone who needs it. Think of it as a pep talk wrapped in a story.

Why Vocal?

Platforms like Vocal are like lifeboats for writers stranded in the chaotic ocean of the internet. You can share your work, find your tribe, and maybe even make a few bucks—because let’s face it, writing doesn’t pay in magic beans (unless you’re a wizard). By sharing my journey here, I’m not just keeping myself on track; I’m throwing a VIP invite to anyone bold enough to join this rollercoaster. It’s like an open-mic night for creativity—just without the embarrassing mic drop moment.

And let’s be honest: winning a prize? That’s the cherry on top of this wild sundae. If I can inspire a few folks and fuel my caffeine habit in the process, that’s a total win.

The Bigger Picture

This isn’t just about writing a book or starting a blog. It’s about proving to myself that I can actually finish something—without getting distracted by my random obsessions or the next shiny thing that catches my eye. It’s about growth, grit, and telling stories that’ll make someone forget their laundry looks like a mountain. Trust me, I’ve been there. Maybe, just maybe, it’s about creating something that outlives me. Something that’ll make someone say, “At least I’m not the only one who’s a hot mess.” Like the time I tried cooking a fancy meal and set off the smoke alarm. Classic.

So here’s to 2025: the year of big dreams, questionable decisions, and, if the stars align, a completed manuscript (and not just in the "draft" folder). Life’s way too short to keep your stories locked up like an embarrassing high school diary. It’s time to set them free and let chaos—or brilliance—take over.