Here we go.
I’m going to
- Read a book every week and write a one-line review.
- Run a half-marathon. Come ON, it’s just 13 miles; we’re built for it, how hard can it be? (I’ve actually booked one. There may be swearing ahead.)
- Finish My Novel.
- Get some short stories published because NO ONE needs THIS many unsubmitted drafts.
- Clean my desk. (In fairness, I did this a LOT in 2018, but my desk self-messes.)
- Stop work by midnight every day. Really, working till 2am is a form of self harm. Better to get up at 5am if necessary. Reading other people’s books under the duvet is of course allowed.
- Not buy — NOT BUY — any MORE new books until I’ve read the ones on my shelf. By “shelf” I include also the teetering pile of dust, wood pulp and ink that has spent the last 3 years fading on my window ledge. Even the daunting Hilary Mantel brick. And the mass of pixels on Kindle that I paid for and subsequently ignored.
- Every day this year I will throw out a carrier-bag’s worth of stuff until my house feels clean and Zen, because few things make me feel more work-oriented than a clean, orderly environment. I’m the only person in the house who feels like this.
Oh, and of course:
- Mountains, maps and tents.
That’ll do. (Donkey.)
In other news, I did achieve a few of last year’s resolutions, including running to 15km, a children’s garden-of-sorts (technically not exactly dream reading garden – more a basic sitting-outside area, but this is 2018 so I’ll take it), some charity runs and a swim, and we made it to the top of some brilliant mountains, so I wasn’t completely useless. I wish I’d been able to properly celebrate these things at the time – I would have loved to mark the occasions – but 2018 wasn’t a warm, fuzzy, friendly year.
It’s nearly midnight, so I’m heading off with Milkman (book, not bloke) now.
Limber up for 2019, everyone.