The Couch Book: A 2014 Challenge

I have too many notebooks to count. Some are filled in their entirety. Others have a page or two with jotted notes. Some have pages torn from their spine.

When it comes to notebooks, I am only consistent in my addiction to acquiring them. They are tchotchkes: quaint items on a shelf I admire from afar. When I make notes for works-in-progress, I most often do so at the keyboard. I admire the art of handwriting, but I revel in the speed of my fingers on keys.

I’m always interested in twists and tricks to help my creative process, so for 2014 I am setting a goal. Not a resolution, but a goal that should be within my reach.

I’ve selected a spiral-bound hardcover notebook that I have deemed The Couch Book. I will place this notebook in my usual comfort corner, where I end the day resting up, sipping coffee, and watching mindless television with my spouse. While I have an awful time trying to read (meaningfully) whilst the television is on, I have found it possible for me to make little notes: grocery lists, to-do lists, random bursts of phrasing that may prove useful in a wip.

My goal for the year is to use The Couch Book on a daily basis, with no set goal of time or line length, to write something other than lists. I’m curious to see what ideas come out of committing to writing in a notebook for one year. My hunch is that without direction, without intent, and without those rules we so often impose on our creative writing time, I may see some organic growth in the idea department.

This is nothing new. Lovely, well-versed, and well-published authors claim so often how the journaling process works wonders for them. It is not my intent to journal, but it is my intent to see what happens when you take a pen and notebook out of the working, must-be-creating mindset and into the comfort of the couch.

all in a day’s mindset: tackling the to-dos

I’m a nerd. A to-do list nerd, especially. I like having a focus—or several—for the day and earning that sense of satisfaction when things get checked off the list.

Yet I’m continually refining the art of to-do list making. I go back and forth between paper and pen lists versus the kind I make in a Word document. Or a bullet point list on my phone. The tactile pleasure of the pen and paper route is great. There’s an added sense of accomplishment in physically striking something off the list. But the computer document has a great function, too, if I don’t let it get out of control: I can amend the day’s to-dos as I move along.

Where the computer doc causes trouble is two-fold: 1) I can continually add to-dos to the day, thus making it impossible to truly accomplish everything and 2) I tend to erase what I have accomplished, so at the end of the day all I see is what I haven’t done.

So I did an experiment this week (as I tend to do such things). I made a new document of to-dos and every time I completed a task, I crossed it out—rather than deleted the item. This was a test to see if I actually found more satisfaction in seeing what’s been done for the day. The result? Sure. There was some joy in seeing checked off items.

The real result, though, is the realization that no matter how I project my day’s activities, I always set overachieving goals. For whatever reason, I can’t bring myself to list just one or two things to do in a day. I aim high, do my best, and push the rest to the next day, or the next. It’s how I operate. And that’s okay. For me, it works. 

I love fantasizing about a super-organized life. One that has a place for everything, and where everything is in its place. One that has a to-do list of achievable goals for each day, and that’s checked off in true Martha Stewart fashion. But I’m not Martha. I’m me. Chaotic, imperfect, organized-in-my-own-dysfunctional-way me. And that’s a good thing.

A Bad Blogger in A Good Year

I’m not a bad person, I just do bad things.

Things To Do

Wait. I don’t mean bad things. I mean I do things—or don’t do things—that make me feel guilty. Guilty for not doing things or guilty for should-be-doing things. Guilty for not doing enough of the right things. Sounds a bit crazy and confusing? It is. It can be.

I like order. I like lists. I take pride in my to-do lists, even when they are a key source of self-loathing when I fail to accomplish impossible and over-achieving goals set for each day. I somehow feel that setting unrealistic goals motivates me to accomplish the majority of my ambitions; aim for the stars and maybe you'll reach the sky, or something John Lubbock said. 

My process is nothing new. I have written about this self-defeating/self-fulfilling strategic plan before:

“I have deliberately sabotaged nearly every day of my writing life with my to-do list. It is aggressive. It is unrealistic. It demonstrates my illusions of grandeur....Yet I continue to carry on this habit, this self-punishment. Because it works for me.”

From “The Not-To-Do List,” Passages North, May 2012

Each year I take stock of things I accomplished, things I didn’t quite check off the list, and, eventually, this transitions into setting goals for the year ahead. This all translates into more lists: lists of accomplishments,

More Things

lists of to-dos right now, lists of to-dos for the new year, lists to remind myself how I, and we, can exercise literary citizenship. I sometimes make lists of lists to make.

So, as December winds its way down, I’m drawn into my usual end-of-year assessment. Last year was apparently “A Tale of 100 Submissions.” In the middle of 2013, I did some self-reflecting and paid mind to needing to downsize some ambitions in order to accomplish bigger goals and keep my sanity. But I also swore to myself that I would not be a hypocrite and that I would, seriously, make my blog more of a priority. I changed up the blog design and set goals publicly—and then failed to execute what I set out to do.

It’s not that blogging is a make or break activity that defines whether or not I am a good person. I actually want to be consistent with my blog. I enjoy writing posts—for myself and for my readers. But the guilt also sets in when I think of emerging and fellow writers who turn to me in my social media workshops and who consider that I know something about this stuff. You’re a full-time writer! You’re good at all that social media stuff! You’re so organized! Oh, please. I’m human. I’m flawed in the most fumbling ways.

That means, in the big picture to-do list of priorities, the blog usually suffers.

These Other Things

In 2013, counting posts only before today, I posted a humbling 37 times to my blog. That’s a little embarrassing. Rather than wallow in my guilt, though, I’m taking action. I’m posting today, obviously, but I’ve also been making notes and plans for topics I’d like to blog about. I have a handsome list (!) accumulating blog post plans and I’m genuinely excited to write more for this venue.

And, really, I don’t feel too bad about being a bad blogger this year. It’s been a great year for me, otherwise. I’ve been busy—overwhelmingly so, but in ways that I feel so blessed to count as Good Things Accomplished in 2013. I traveled—for business and pleasure—to twenty states and two provinces. I worked with the wonderful editorial team at Accents Publishing in preparation for the new poetry book, Square Feet. I finished polishing a new nonfiction book that was contracted this year by Bloomsbury and will be published in late 2014. And I checked so many little—but important-to-me—tasks

Enabling Thing

off my to-do list that I can’t feel bad about not accomplishing everything I set out to do this year. I can’t feel that bad about not blogging more than I did.

But I can aim higher for the year to come. I can accomplish something as simple as posting more often on my blog. I will make this a goal and I will put a realistic plan into action. Which brings me back to assessing the year that was, planning for the year to come, and having fun creating a full-of-hope, full-of-ambition new list of to-dos. Because old habits die hard and I do love those lists…

It looks like I’m going to need a bigger coffee cup for 2014.

Me First: Downsizing as an Upgrade

i·ron·ic   /īˈränik/

Adjective: Happening in the opposite way to what is expected, thus typically causing wry amusement.


I’m in the process of editing a project on the topic of literary citizenship. In the past (and scheduled in the future again), one of my most requested guest talks touches on this very subject. It’s one I personally admire, and something I aim to live by, as well. How, exactly, can we put a little more of ourselves into the lit community, to not only grow from creatively and with zest, but more so to sustain and foster the community around us…. etc… etc… 

So, yes, I am working on this project I adore and feel so good about.

Meanwhile, and perhaps ironically, something has to give.

I go through this phase usually once, if not twice, each year. I come to a place and time where I feel like I might possibly be stretching myself too thin in some areas. Why? 

Confession: I am a hoarder when it comes to taking advantage of opportunities. I have such a hard time passing up even the most miniscule of opportunities that appeals to me. These are not necessarily gratuitous in fortune, or in praise, but they appeal to me. Whether adding a new review gig to my plate or a speaking engagement that’s so close down the road that it can’t possibly take much of my time and, oh, wouldn’t that just be a nice thing to do, and how great it is to encourage emerging writers and, okay, so the pay is barely existent, if there at all, but just imagine those gracious faces when they think about their writing dreams and… and… and… Sigh. I hoard opportunities.  

I enjoy working in the community. I enjoy reviewing books. When able to do so, I will help out another writer, whether that’s nudging a bit of promo/marketing his/her way or responding to emails from those just starting out.

Yet I have a few personal mantras that thankfully keep me in check:

Strive for balance.

Ensure quality of life.

Save yourself before you try to save others.

And it has come to that time, once again, where it’s downsizing season in this writer’s office.

So, how exactly do I go about keeping balance? How do I measure my commitments and weed down the to-do list?

There is nothing scientific to the process, but I do call on my love of spreadsheets to aid in the decision-making. I review what I have done in the past year (for my own writing, for journals and freelance publications, for workshops and other activities within the community—locally and more broadly). I list off the time needed to accomplish ‘external’ commitments, as well as assign any monetary or side-benefits that result from such contracts. Then, I more and more closely look at how, if at all, these ‘jobs’ distract from my own creative work. Because, really, at the end of the day, a writer needs to have written something. A writer writes, yes? And if the writing suffers from a lack of time or focus, no amount of community outreach will make up for that.

Not that long ago, writer pal Joe Ponepinto wrote a blog post about writing for pay, or, rather, that writers should be paid. I agree. But, admittedly, I do take on some projects that pay in ways other than cash. I take on projects that push me, move me, or otherwise propel me forward. But, yes, I seek the paying projects, too.

Yet when I tally my year’s activities and seek to find where to cut, it’s not always the least paying gigs that I unleash from my commitment list. Sometimes, actually, I cut the best paying sources. Why? Sometimes those come at another cost: time and energy.

Really, then, the be-all-end-all of my assessment is this:

_Does X still add something to my life/creative endeavors?

_Does X still contribute to my greater goals?

_Does X take up too much time that could better be spent writing?

And, in a very subjective question, I admit, I also consider whether my efforts are truly appreciated. That’s a tough one to ask and an even tougher one to answer. But it’s important, too, to not only feel good about one’s efforts, but to feel others benefit from and appreciate what you can offer. That’s half the ‘pay-off’ sometimes. That’s the seed of literary citizenship, to give something of one’s self to others in the community. 

Writers write. Balance. Quality of life. Save yourself before you try to save others. These are the thoughts that I keep in mind regardless of adding to or cutting something from my schedule. The result is sometimes temporary, as I continually add (hoard) things throughout the year. And even when I feel guilty about cutting something from my task list, I remind myself this: I am not downsizing. I am upgrading.