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January is synonymous with refresh, renew, and resolve. I don’t know why. After all, it’s those first warm, sunny days in spring that have us all opening windows to draw in the clean air, throwing out what doesn’t work anymore and sprucing up what we keep.
January is suspect. January lies. For instance, daffodils are poking their little heads through the soil right now. Bluebirds have been checking out the birdhouses in my yard. The temperature is a perfectly acceptable 63 degrees. This is January where I live, and I’m not stupid. No, I’m not falling for it again. January is a wicked little month setting us up for ice, snow, freezing temperatures, and possibly volcanic eruptions to come.
You’ll get no suggested life changes from me, at least not right now. Maybe in August or September, when the school supplies hit the stores and something really new begins. For now, though, I’m in more of a review and revise frame of mind.
Example: I’ve spent the last 18 months or so focused on poetry. To my great surprise and joy, many of my newest poems found good homes. You can check those out on my Publications page, if you’d like.
I’m taking a close look at the journals that appreciated my work, analyzing that, makings lists of places I’ll try again. The poems that are sprouting gray hairs and still haven’t been accepted are being revised and (I hope) improved. A couple of them are going into a metaphorical compost bin.
I’m revising a few personal essays to bring them from draft to completion. This hibernation time of year is ideal for introspective writing. And I’m finally pulling together all the different versions of a novel, drawing it together into the story I’ve just now figured out that I want to tell.
It’s same-old same-old right now, as far as I’m concerned. Another day, another opportunity to spin a tale or craft a sonnet or explore a memory.
Ignore that arbitrary date, and just write something.
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