In all the 27 new years that have come and gone, I have not once made a resolution.

For the most part, I thought they felt a little negative because you hear more often than not of people making resolutions that are just made to be broken or don’t seem so important. You know the ones – lose 10lbs, quit smoking, stop being mean to my brother, exercise at 5am each day, read War and Peace etc.

This year, however, I’ve decided that I’m going to make one.

It’s not so much of what I’m not going to do, but rather, what I am going to do. And what I am going to do this year is not hold back.

This new feeling of bravery started in mid-December when something inside just clicked. When I realised that I by writing, I was a writer. And how much of a writer depended on how much I wrote and what I did with it. That feeling of accepting who I am and being comfortable has allowed me to relax and focus on moving forward, instead of spending time question if I have the right to move forward.

I think of all the time from April until December that I held back, and all the opportunities that passed me by because I was afraid or the friendships I missed because I was too scared to sound stupid and hit the reply button. I think of all the paintings that I never started because I was too scared that they’d be stupid and all the writing bits I threw out because I was afraid that someone might read them. That’s not what I am about and that’s not what living is about.

Now that I’m back to remembering that I won’t waste anymore time. No more holding back.

There will be no updates to the site, no day entries or portfolio’s launching until January. It will be quiet around here as I take time out and go away for the Holidays.

Before I do, I wanted to break from the regular “journal entries” and say a quick Thank You to each and every one of you. Yes, even you, the first time visitor.

In April 2001 I took a dream, some webspace, and a leap of faith and here I am. A writer that is surrounded by countless means of support, wonderful friends, and a dream that’s become a reality.

All your emails and your sharing of stories and experiences has affected me in ways you’ll never know. So from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for letting me feel so lucky.

If I could have one wish for you this holiday season, it would be that whatever is in your heart to do, you begin it. That any dream you have becomes a reality in 2002. Because it can.

I haven’t been holding back at all the past several days. I’ve created a scary amount of momentum and accomplished things that used to be just ideas floating in my mind. I’ve finally spent time working on my portfolio, I’ve been working on launching two sites, and I’ve been writing like mad for another writing project whose deadline is January 01st. I’ve been doing and doing and doing.

It feels bloody fabulous.

That’s not to say that I have put in 13-hour days or broken any records for the most amount of work in one hour – I haven’t. In fact, one day I didn’t do more than hours worth of anything, let alone writing. On that particular day, I couldn’t do much of anything at all, so I didn’t. But the next day when I thought about all that I could do, I did it all.

I’ve just felt so completely liberated since I examined things and figured out where my head was. The clarity has been the best Christmas present I could have ever asked for. I realise now that things are just so simple, so easy to see. I think my fear was manifesting everything into a big complicated mess. Fear is a bugger like that.

That’s why I created that poster yesterday. I truly believe that if you want to be a writer, the only thing you have to do is write. There is no path to follow, no test to pass, no course to take, no lifestyle to follow. You just have to write. Plain and simple.

The quote by Edison along with creating the poster yesterday has just given me back my friendship with freedom and allowed me to write as I need to. No more reading every book on how to write, no more playing tricks to get me to write, no more trying to create schedules that don’t work anyway, no more talking about writing or how I feel about writing. No more fear of failing or not living up to some kind of imagined expectations. No more fluff. Just writing.

When I mentioned this to Chris he said to me, “Sounds like you finally meshed the two.”

“The two what?” I said.

“Your life and your writing. You’ve been keeping them pretty separate.”

“Writing is my life.” I said back to him.

“No,” he said, “It’s been your job. You’ve treated it different. Your personal, kick ass, simple, real logic that you have in your every day life hasn’t been applied to your writing life. You’re always full of confidence but when it came to writing it seemed to vanish. You seemed to vanish. But it looks likes now how you are in your every day life and how you work in that is being applied to your writing. You’re writing now instead of you trying to be somebody who writes.”

I hadn’t ever thought of it that way but I can completely see it now. Before I had felt that just simply writing wasn’t enough to make someone a writer. I thought I had to do “writer” things and follow a “writers” path so I tried to create some kind of form and function to follow. I tried to give power to myself via someone else. But the truth is, I was a writer all along for the mere fact that I wrote.

I don’t, however, feel like such a dumbass for not realising that any sooner. After all Dorothy didn’t find out either until she had gone on a huge colourful journey too.

I’ve had in my mind, a huge project. A project that involved lots of work, effort and being brave.

It was to create a website that showcased other women who were on the same path as myself because I have received so many emails from people who have said how grateful they were to find someone else trying to find their way. I wanted to share with them that I’m not the only one out there – there is a lot of us out there.

About 5 months ago I created the domain name for it. I started to tinker around with creating the website. But nothing ever really got done – despite the fact I truly believed in this. No matter how much I talked about it or thought about it, nothing ever developed into something real. It always remained just an idea.

When I kicked my arse the other day, I finally got it all done. I realised I was holding back on beginning and finishing the project because I was so afraid of it failing, or people not wanting to participate in it, or the audience not wanting to see it. But the other day I just realised that if I can do it, I need to do it. I have to try, even if it fails.

I ended up working like mad for a couple of days creating the Visit the Site – Another Girl at Play!website, figuring out whom to contact and gathering email addresses. Once I had done that there was only one thing left to do – write a proposal, contact other people and invite them to participate.

To me, that was the scariest thing ever. It was one thing for me to just know about it and be OK with it, but it was a whole other bag to let others know about it.

But I did it. I wrote up the proposal and sent it off to people I thought would be perfect.

When I hit the “send” button and the email went on it’s way, I felt both excited and scared. Excited because I was finally doing something rather than just keeping it locked away in my mind and scared because I could get a lot of rejection. When something stays in your mind, only you can reject it and that’s a lot easier to control. Making it real takes courage, I know. You have to be able to get rejected and say, “Ok, that just didn’t work out. Next!”

So with that attitude, rather than sit and focus on that site and what could happen, I decided I had to just release it and let what happens with it happen. There were other projects I needed to work on and moving forward is always a good direction.

Then as I was working on other things, the emails started to come in. Slowly but surely, people were saying yes! People were telling me they were excited. People saying they’d love to participate and knew of someone else. A buzz started to happen and the fear started to slowly melt away.

Of course, there is still a lot of work to be done on the site, but it looks like it will happen.

Finally.

When Thomas Edison wrote those words, I don’t think he had the intention of using them as a kick in the ass for me.

However, since reading that quote several days ago, a kick is exactly what it was.

A couple of weeks ago I had a four day bout of madness – I wrote, created new sites, worked on my portfolio, worked on some submissions non-stop. I would go to bed around 4am, wake up at 8am and repeat. I lost track of time, skipped meals, stayed in a dishevelled state and became unrecognisable to my cat.

After the four days I felt alive and complete. I had done all that I could and had worn myself out. On the fifth day I couldn’t do anything more than sleep, but that was OK because I felt I had deserved it. I promised myself that the next day I’d do it all over again.

But the next day, I didn’t. I didn’t on the 7th day or the 8th day either. The 9th day? Forgetaboutit.

A whole bunch of things started to go through my brain and I started to have issues again with writing. This frustrated me because I really thought that I was finally comfortable with all that I was doing.

I wasn’t.

Even though so many positive things were happening – two articles behind me, another coming out in January, and a book project that I was possibly going to participate in, endless means of support from readers and other artists, I was still scared and unsure. I was holding back from all that I could do, and was frustrated with myself for that.

I used to take leaps and bounds and dive right in but with writing, with art, I have taken such little steps, sometimes testing the waters first. I’ve been trying to do it “right” and “practical” and “logical” and with no mistakes. I’ve been scaring myself into perfection, which I now know is not only stupid, but also impossible. That combined with my fear and self doubt had manifested itself into a nasty little writers block and if I was going to get anywhere, I had to deal with it. I had to stop holding back and do all that I could do.

That’s why the quote from Edison really hit me hard and woke me up.

When I worked for those four days straight doing everything I had to do no matter how tired, hungry or cranky I was I felt so complete and alive. I didn’t question once if this was OK or if I was on the right track. I just knew because I felt it. The days that I do less, I feel less.

I keep thinking that because I’ve been a freelance writer for over seven months now that things should be perfect and smooth. I should have it all together and the whining should be minimised and perhaps eliminated completely. But I’m still learning, still trying to find what works for

And I think slowly, I’m figuring it out.

It’s come to the point where I don’t feel like talking about writing anymore; all I want to do now is just do it.

No more analysing, no more reading how others did it, no more playing tricks to get me to write, no more 12 step programs, no more thinking outloud or talking about all the projects I have. That has to stop, or the writing won’t ever really begin.

The old quote, “Those who can do, do, and those that can’t talk a lot about it,” keeps popping up in my mind. I’ve done the reading, I’ve done the homework, I’ve done the playing. It’s time to do the work. And not sporadic bits that keep give me a false sense of accomplishment, but hard down, dirty I’m exhausted and it’s not going to stop for awhile work.

I’ve known I’ve had to do this for a long time, but I keep putting it off. I buy books to read telling myself it’s to help me learn but it’s really to keep me from writing. I think, as much as I feel like a writer, I’m still afraid. Still afraid to be proven wrong. Afraid that my writing isn’t acceptable, afraid to be found out that I’m a phony, afraid that all those that see me as test waters will be disappointed if I don’t make it.

When I think about it all, I freeze up. I pretend that I don’t but I do. I pretend I have reasons for not writing – dishes, cleaning, my art program, family, moving, lack of ideas, cold weather, no tea. But the only reason I have is being afraid because of everything that has been swimming around in my brain. The only thing I can think to calm myself is to just do it.

Don’t think, just do. Let it come out. Start writing. Don’t stop. Don’t worry. Do.

My eyes won’t stay open much longer, my fingers are too tired to type and my brain pleads insanity from exhaustion. I’ve just come off a mad literally non-stop 4 day run of writing.

I was working until 4am and then would rise at 8am to start all over again. I’d forget to eat or get up and stretch my legs. Instead of paying attention to the dishes, the laundry, the phone calls, I ignored it all and did nothing more than write and create.

There were so many ideas swimming around in my brain and for the first time in awhile, I was able to make sense and record each and every one of them. Websites were redesigned, others were started. Writing projects long put off were completed and people I had to write to now had emails from me in their inbox.

Not once in all this work did I tell myself to stop, even when perhaps I should have. I kept going and working and instead of being cranky about working at 3am, I was excited at how much I was doing. At one point I noted to myself that if this were any other job I would have been bitter – very bitter. I would have demanded to know why I was working such long hours because it’s just not human. I would have wanted to know what would my compensation be for working such long, demanding hours? I would have watched the clock relentlessly for lunch breaks and coffee gatherings. I probably would have made a fuss, especially if I had to work the weekend.

But there I was, doing the exact same thing, without direct pay, without compensation, without breaks, and without complaints. In fact, I was happy about it all. I felt good about it all. I felt accomplished about it all. I hadn’t worked my arse off so much in a long time but somehow, it just didn’t feel like work.

It reminded me of when I met an old man who was a wood carver and sold all his beautiful toys, dishes, shakers, and various other wood projects. Once I exclaimed when I looked at the detail of his wooden toys and said, “Look at all that hard work.” He heard me and with a wink replied, “That’s not work, it’s play.”

I understand that now. That is why after all that hard work I still long to do more.

When people ask what I do and I tell them I’m a writer, their response is to scrunch their nose and ask the same questions that everyone asks; how much does it pay, what do I write, and where did I get my degree. It always happens, without fail.

My answer is now always the same, “The pay varies, I write about every day real things in a way that you take a second look, and I have no degree as I’ve never stepped foot in a university.”

At this point, their eyes begin to squint and they look me up and down. They almost always want to challenge me because that’s not an answer they expected. They say, “You write about life? You’re what, 20?”

“No,” I’ll say with a wink, “I have far more years and experience than you think.”

Then there is always a moment of awkward silence until they ask, “Well, how do you write if you don’t have a degree?”

“Work doesn’t always require a degree,” I say. “Just effort.”

At this point the conversation usually ends. When people ask me those questions I know they’re looking for a certain response, and when they don’t get it, they become a bit defensive and try to put me on the spot but not validating what I say. It can be frustrating to say the least to not be taken seriously – either because of your profession, the way you look, or because of the life you’ve chosen.

When I encounter those sorts I just remind myself that they won’t help me anyway, so why bother explaining things or giving them the whole story.

I am by no means an accomplished and successful writer, and I still have far too much to learn than I can grasp right now, but at least I am out there doing. Perhaps not in the best way, or the easiest way, perhaps not as “professional writers with degrees and 50 years behind them” do, but I’m doing. I’m out there showing up each day trying to make a living at what I love. That, I think, is what is important – not how much I’ve taken home, how many degrees I have or a title that is cut and dry.

It’s funny, but when I was shopping today I heard a girl say, “I just graduated in May, with a degree in Creative Writing. There are no jobs out there for me at all so I have to work retail.”

When I heard that I thought to myself, “only if you want to.”