Still Standing

I don’t do New Year’s resolutions.

There are two reasons why I don’t. The first one is that the very centre of winter is no time to start important long-term projects. It’s dark, it’s cold, and the only sensible way of dealing with these facts is to wrap myself in yet another blanket while sipping hot tea. The only sensible reason to slip out my hand from under that blanket is to turn the page in the book I’m reading. Important new projects can wait until spring.

The second reason… I’m not sure how to put it. It has to do with openness and adapting, with life being so very much like an ocean full of unexpected depths and eddies, ebbs and flows, frothy waves and weird deep-sea creatures. I feel that focusing too much on any specific goal might rob me of the opportunity to experience something much more interesting that life has in store for me. Yes, I still like to have projects, ambitions, things it would be nice to have or achieve, but I also like to keep my mind open in case something more pressing or interesting appears on the horizon. This attitude also helps me to remain chill about whether this or that project gets implemented or not. It helps me go with the flow.

So, I don’t do New Year’s resolutions, even if I tend to always have a few things on my plate to keep me busy.

In fact, the final months of last year kept me particularly engaged. I was trying to get as much of my new novel written as possible before the end of December. It all started in November and on Vocal, because where else? My brain suddenly decided that silly first sentence prompt about the river running backwards might not be so silly after all, and came up with an Idea. The Idea turned into an Image in my mind, the Image expanded into a series of sentences, which started to coalesce into a semblance of a Plot. Who knew, huh? My poor tired fingers, although accustomed to the professional typing speed of about 70 characters per minute that comes really handy in the daily slog I’m actually paid for, could hardly keep up with the rate at which my imagination kept spitting out characters, scenes and plot twists. By the time the clocks struck midnight for the last time in 2024, my unexpectedly conceived fantasy novel was nearing 17,000 words.

This year didn’t start with a bang, not only because the outdoor portion of the famous Edinburgh Hogmanay celebrations was cancelled due to high winds and a generally foul weather. I can’t say that I minded much. I was far too busy writing, and needed a clear, well-rested head for this purpose. So, when asked what I was up to during the holidays, I struggled to come up with an answer that could sound even remotely exciting.

I was writing hard on the first and second day of January 2025. I was also not sleeping for reasons that might have had something to do with my daughter… but let’s not go into details here. In the late afternoon of 3 January, I finally had an opportunity to discuss what bothered me with the said daughter and, soon after, my throat felt a little bit sore. I slept like a log that night, woke up as usual on 4 January, sat down to write a bit more. And had to go back to bed a few hours later.

One thing I can tell you is that the body temperature of 39 degrees Celsius (102.2 F for those across the pond) is not an experience I would recommend to anyone my age. Coughing your lungs out while every cough causes head-spliting pain within your skull is no fun either. You suddenly acquire a very acute sense of your own mortality. Combined with a lot of free time on your hands and an undercooked brain, this can trigger very strange thoughts indeed.

I kept thinking about my long gone grandma and the black dress she kept in the wardrobe along with smart black shoes. She considered it only normal to be well prepared for her own funeral. She also had a certain amount of money tucked away for her funeral “to spare the family the expense of it". Preparedness rules! Those older generations weren’t snowflakes.

I wondered what grandma would say if she could see me in my half-alive condition, with a new novel barely started, the daughter not fully adulted, funeral arrangements not taken care of, and the only black trousers in my wardrobe torn embarrassingly close to the crotch area. What can I say, I really don’t like wearing black.

As much as I would like to have a long and happy retirement, the time necessary to get to the retirement age seemed unreasonably long all of a sudden and I realised that a possibility existed of me never getting to that point at all. What a disappointment that would be!

I kept thinking that, even though my assets were neither numerous nor particularly substantial, my daughter as the only heiress had no chance of even finding them all without my assistance. As a self-employed person, I regularly use at least 7 different accounts because my clients are based in several countries and fast international transfers need to be made at least a few times every month. I suddenly remembered an old retirement fund with about 600 pounds in it last time I checked. And that investment of exactly 25 pounds sterling made years ago and completely forgotten. Not a lifechanging amount, sure, but why leave it to a bank rather than to my own daughter? Those bankers and finance guys have too much money anyway.

After two full days of getting pickled in my own sweat, I took the risk of cautiously assuming a vertical position, and set out on the perilous journey to the bathroom. Fortunately, a wall was available for support throughout that expedition. I managed to brave the longest 2 metres of cold floor panels ever to arrive in the bathroom with my head spinning and realise that there was no strength left in me to take a shower. Then I looked at my hair and decided to take it anyway. Let me tell you, if you don’t know that oily-hair-plastered-to-your-scalp-after-two-days-in-bed feeling, you know nothing about motivation.

It took a few more days for the high fever to subside, my brain still feels both shaken and stirred, but it looks like I’m about to live. For now. Contrary to the carefree attitudes of previous years, the recent illness has left me with two projects I would like to accomplish this year.

The first goal for the year is, unsurprisingly, to write that novel. Seriously, even if no one else ever reads it, it is so much fun to create. I have started so many novels over the years… It would be quite something to actually finish one. Besides, I have never been as much of a pantser as this time, and had no idea I could be. All of a sudden, the events keep unfolding in my mind as I write them, with no preconceived plan. Surprising myself with my own writing is a rare treat! I wrote seven chapters before realising how magic worked in the world of my story. Nine chapters in, I’m getting the first inklings of how it will all end.

Last year has been very productive for me in terms of writing, all thanks to Vocal. I may not be particularly prolific, especially compared to some of the Vocalites I follow and admire. But hey, I write in a language that is not my native one! It means that I have to think heard not only about what to say but also about how to say it correctly. No way I would have ever created as much as I did without being present on Vocal. All those challenges can’t help but give you ideas… This lastest novel of mine is the best example.

And don’t get me started on the helpfulness of the community. I have yet to see a hateful comment, which is so much more than what you can count on pretty much everywhere else. Last but not least, so many new creative ideas have sprouted thanks to some fruitful discussions with other Vocalites! I would never have learned that much about writing on my own. I keep learning, keep getting inspired, and keep being grateful.

A sub-wish of sorts I have for the year ahead is to be less single-minded and continue to take part in new challenges even while writing this new big opus of mine. It was frustrating to see some of the latest challenges to swish by unattended, with me unable to focus on them while one plot kept unfolding in my head.

My second resolution is to have a will drawn up. My daughter is 17 and I am the only family she has. Even if I couldn’t think of any other reason to live – and I can think of plenty – for this reason alone I will do my best to stay alive for as long as possible. However, if I were to kick the bucket unexpectedly in the not so distant future, I would like to know that I did my best to provide for her. Otherwise I will probably stay around as a restless ghost, unable to move on before all the assets have been accounted for. No way I’m going to let that happen. Time to channel my grandma a bit more. She was a wise woman.

But I still don’t like wearing black. What do you think, is a green dress going to go well with a coffin?

With matters like these taken care of and being ill out of the way at the outset, hopefully I will finally be able to focus on writing more in 2025.

Happy New Year to all of you beautiful people of Vocal!