The Major Thing I'm Going to Finish by the End of January
It won't be easy, but I'm determined.
I write this during a sort-of work break. By sort-of, I mean that I’m off from my work at Kinder Beauty—where I am the VP of Brand Editorial (“Brand” was just added to my title because it pushes it a bit more into the marketing realm, and all of the content I assign and produce ultimately is brand- and marketing-focused)—but I am still hard at work with other projects. The media nonprofit I co-founded, Our Hen House, is in the midst of our (admittedly stressful but ultimately deeply satisfying) end-of-year fundraising, and I am still at least somewhat focused on my writing. And in the interest of curiosity, I am trying to remain open to what that will look like in 2022—and, more pressingly, in January 2022.
One thing I’ve been holding onto for some time—and regularly pushing to the back-burner—is this YA novel I have been wanting to write. Part of the reason I haven’t—well, it’s just silly: I didn’t want to start something new until I knew for sure if this other book I wanted to write was going to move forward. And I still don’t actually know—but I am so fed up with waiting for things (that I ultimately don’t have control over, anyway) in order to move forward—that I have finally come to the conclusion that I can no longer dick around.
Of course, there are other excuses I have, too, and these things terrify me, still: Though I used to almost exclusively write fiction, that was a long time ago … like maybe twenty years. I remember getting lost in the world-building, not paying attention to real-life conversations because I was too preoccupied in my head with what was going to happen to some fictional character I had made up.
Writers are seriously bananas, aren’t we?
By the time I reconsidered going back into the world of fiction, I was already a published author, so I no longer really felt I could play around and see where it took me.
Words are not my hobby; they are my living. When I haven’t been lucky enough to be working on an actual book, I have been editing, packaging, putting together a column, taking on a thought piece, interviewing celebs and trying to translate that interview as best as possible in writing. The idea of trying out fiction when I didn’t know the rules or the blueprint for a perfect novel was, and is, outside of my comfort zone.
Still, like so many of us, I had this story unfolding in my head, and it centered around many of the themes in life I care about most: climate change, gender identity, animals, and coming out. I firmly believe in fiction as a way to change the world, but the idea of going there—when there are so many people who work tirelessly on story structure, subplots, character development, and so much more—was intimidating. Is intimidating.
YA is tricky to write because there are very specific ways of writing for very specific age groups, and I was (am) afraid that I wouldn’t (won’t) get it right.
But I kept pushing through anyway, doing my best to turn off those voices that are getting in my way before I even start the thing.
I’m still, honestly, worried about wasting my time, but I think I’m more worried about always wondering if I could have done it.
They are both big, giant fears of mine, but the latter is slightly more enormous.
Plus, as I’ve previously discussed, I create my best work when I am contracted to do so. I am so frequently motivated by external deadlines that it becomes a near-impossible task for me to finish a project if I’m not mandated to do so. Feel free to pick apart my psyche here, but that’s just the way it’s been for me. That’s one of the reasons why I am so in awe of writers who have the self-discipline to write something on spec, or just for the hell of it. Am I even capable of that?
In an effort to try to know what I am doing with YA writing, I took the next indicated action and started to get lost in apps, software, articles, and even books on how to develop your plots, your story structure, and your characters. I see these as important to the process of putting your story down, but I also see danger there.
If you’re as nervous as I am to write fiction, and if you’re already on the fence about whether you can do it at all, these tools meant to help you run the risk of getting in your way.
I should speak for myself: They run the risk of getting in my way.
On a whim last week, I started writing the summary for my YA book. Actually, no, it wasn’t a whim; I was writing it because a coach I sort of started working with had told me I should journal, Artists Way-style, every morning—and I hate journaling. I used to love it, which is why I have dozens and dozens (and dozens and dozens) of my old journals in my basement currently (this thrills Moore, as you can imagine—and yes, I’m being sarcastic). But I think it’s possible I got out a lifetime of journaling in my first 25 years being alive—leaving me entirely uninterested in doing it now.
Oh, and please don’t get defensive. I completely understand the value of journaling, and I also recognize that it might be a fatal flaw of mine that I am so reactive to it now. For the record, I do answer journaling prompts in my beloved Ink + Volt planner (my 2022 one just arrived!) that are related to goals (year goals, quarterly goals, monthly goals, weekly goals, daily goals, life goals), but I am not a fan of free-form journaling—even though I am confident it works terrifically for most people. Hooray, you!
So in an effort to hold onto part of the essence of my coach’s assignment—to write every morning—I somewhat defiantly started to put onto paper my YA story that has been writing itself in one way or another, in my mind only, for the past year. Take that, coach!
That’s when I immediately became frustrated and those same damn arguments started spinning around and around in my mind: What if I don’t know what demographic I’m writing for? What if my references are too old for teenagers and young adults? What if I write the whole thing and then I don’t find a publisher for it? What if I announce that I’m doing this—to you, my Substack friends—and then I don’t complete it … proving that I’m a loser? Or worse, a non-writer who calls herself a writer?
In between writing sessions, I’d google how to write a novel, picking up a tip here or there but trying to hold it all lightly. I’m pretty sure—though I could certainly be wrong here—that the secret to writing a novel, or anything, for that matter, is writing it.
And believe me, I know how horrible writing can be.
Inspired by the Nanowrimo movement, which advocates writing a novel in a month and provides the tools and community to do so—but frustrated by the fact that the next organized campaign isn’t until April—I started doing my own research into how to write a novel in a month. Though this seems like a loopy idea, remember: I am highly motivated by accountability and external goals. So I found the aptly titled book, How to Write a Novel in a Month, downloaded the e-version, and promised myself I wouldn’t get too caught up on the specifics. I like the no-bullshit, straight-shooter approach that the author, Jeff Gerke, has here.
And, honestly, more useful than the actual tools offered in the book is the fact that this proves one can indeed write a novel in thirty days—minus, of course, the editing and reworking. Gerke promises that’s the easy part, and from the two books I’ve authored thus far, I believe that’s true. To me, writing becomes fun—and significantly easier—once the first draft is done. That is what I am trying to complete.
That is—uh-oh, here I go admitting it—what I want to do in thirty days.
I’m not a math person (like, I actually re-define what it means to be a non-math person), but I took the recommended 50,000 word average of a novel and divided it by weekdays in January (I do my best to take off on weekends—even from writing). And then I added in the last few days of December (since I accidentally already started writing it), and …
… I’m going to go for it.
I have set myself a goal of waking up every morning and writing first thing. Unlike in the past, when my goal was to write for two hours, now it’s to write two-thousand words a day. This means I need to get to 10,000 words by the end of December, and though it will be a challenge, I’m on track to get there.
In order to do so, I need to leave behind:
real-time self-editing (I can do this after my 30 days are up)
a critical voice telling me I will get things wrong (I already know I will get things wrong, so let’s keep going)
morning shenanigans (in other words, since time is precious, I must stick with my promise and write every weekday morning in January—which means getting up early and not distracting myself with Instagram or the New York Times)
Here’s a fun fact about me:
I was once on The Dr. Oz Show (I almost died from anaphylaxis due to the harsh makeup they put on my arms and hands to cover my tattoos, but that’s a story for another time), and during my appearance (which was all about eating the vegan, whole foods-version of traditional American fare), I mentioned that I was planning on running in my first race. Like, as in, I said that. On the biggest daytime talk show on TV.
Here’s the funny thing: I wasn’t a runner.
But out of my mouth came the words, “And I’m going to run in a race!” As I said it, a little voice inside my head was like, “You’re what?”
I went home, took some Benedryl because of the aforementioned potential life-threatening allergic reaction, called an emergency nurse hotline, realized I probably wouldn’t die (but my then-partner was advised to wake me up every hour to make sure I hadn’t), and then I registered myself in a race a few months away. Four miles through Central Park. And then I bought some running sneakers.
When the segment aired, there was nothing in it about me running a race. The editors must have gotten a glimpse of my mushy calves and realized I was not a runner, so they cut that part of the segment. And yet, I had these brand-new sneakers and had paid to enter that race, so I figured I’d do it.
And I did. I ran in that race, and then another, and then several more, and then two half-marathons. For a while there, running was a big part of my life. And it all started with an announcement to Dr. Oz. Outward accountability. That’s how I roll (and run).
It’s December 29, 2021 as I write this. I don’t want to admit to you that I’m going to write this novel in 30 days because even though I’ve run two half-marathons (wait, is that kind of like running one whole one?) and written two books (and edited an anthology), the idea of writing and (gulp) finishing this YA book is, for some reason, terrifying to me. I am promising to you (and to me, and to Dr. Oz if he’s reading this) that I will do it—but I’m all talk, I’m completely posturing, and the truth is, I have no idea if I can. But I fucking will, because I am obsessed with the follow-through. Or at least, I think I am. I guess we’ll know more in about a month.
Part of me wants to challenge you to join me in committing to do something in January that scares but intrigues you. The most obvious thing to me is for you to try on veganism for size, taking part in the wildly successful (and free) Veganuary campaign (and, shameless plug, getting a copy of Fabulous Vegan—not free—to help you along the way). And if you want to go vegan, please reach out to me and let me know.
If that doesn’t call to you—or if you’re already vegan so the point is moot—then what else might you do in January with a specific goal in mind?
No, these aren’t resolutions per se, but rather, commitments to ourselves to just try something for one month. If at the end of the month, it didn’t work, not much time would have been wasted.
On the flip side, maybe we’ll accomplish what it is we set out to do. At the very least, we will have learned something about ourselves and our mysterious, creative ways.
To help us stay accountable, I recommend:
the app Habit Tracker, or any other habit-tracking app
playing focus music, such as through brain.fm
signing up for a CaveDay session, either organized (with other people) or self-guided
announcing somewhere in public—whether on national TV or on your Facebook page—that you are doing this
not letting perfect be the enemy of the good (if you mess up, get over it, and keep going anyway)
And that, my friends, is all. I will keep you posted regarding my progress on my weekly Substacks, and I welcome your input, feedback, experience, strength, and hope.
Happy New Year! 22 is my good luck number, by the way. And so, I’ll choose to be optimistic.
xo,
jazz
The Major Thing I'm Going to Finish by the End of January
Hey Jasmin! What'd you think of Caveday? you should check out Groove (https://links.groove.ooo/substack) I'm biased since I'm on Groove's team ;) but I'd use it all the time even if I wasn't.
Pretty similar concept, but Groove is free, the groups are only up to 4 people, and you're off video and sound after the initial check-in until the regroup. We like to say it's a way to get sh*t done the fun way. Would love to see you on a Groove!