This is the first year I haven't made a public declaration of resolutions somewhere. In fact, I started acting on my private, say-them-under-my-breath-and-keep-them-or-Tinkerbell-will-die promises to myself before 2015 was over. Writing every day was one of the resolutions and it was the first to fall. There's a compelling reason for that and I'll get to it in a minute.
I want to talk about my running, er. walking at running. I have kept that up, sort of. Waking for time got boring. Five minutes here, ten minutes there... It got to be a slog. So I am going for distance and it's more fun because I'm shaving off time and getting faster. Right now I go for a quarter mile. (Yeah, I know. You go, you marathoner, you!) When I started doing those single laps, it was taking ten minutes. Now I'm down to six. Soon I'll be able to outpace your average ambling, screen-distracted kindergartner.
Unfortunately, the foot pain is still there. Vitamin E oil mixed with essential oils of bergamot, eucalyptus, and lavender helps. I'm wearing crocs when I fire up Treadly Whiplash, some oversized Chucks or Uggs knockoffs when I go anywhere, and Gardeners Supply fleece booties the rest of the time. Who knew looking like a cavewoman or an 80s' vintage frustrated artist would be so comfortable?
About my writing... Do I want North American arts and letters to FAIL? I must! I must! I... Okay, I'll quit being so silly. I got this email from a website I pitched last year. Did I want to write news copy? Would I take some tests and do a timed sample? So far, so good. They like my work and I passed the tests. It looks like my skill set at this point consists of telling stories and, uh, telling stories. So that's where my head has been. Now that I'm not poring over editorial guidelines and manuals of style, I can get back to writing, commence with making the goods for my online store-to-be, and make some art when I'm not playing Jimmy Olsen.