1 outta 2 isn't half bad.
Oh, wait. It is exactly half bad.
I spent a good portion of the last year on my body. Mainly by gaining 25 unnecessary pounds. (An unfortunate side effect of taking in sugar like it's oxygen.) "But you're a vegetarian!" people say. "I thought all vegetarians were healthy." After I've stopped laughing myself to tears at this thought, I explain that while I don't eat meat, there are plenty of other things I do enjoy (in excess) that really stick to the ribs. And the hips. And the thighs.
|Yeah, you read that right. "1/2" birthday. For my son's 6 month milestone. He couldn't eat any, but I sure did! Any excuse for cake will do.|
I wish I could tell you that my aversion to eating meat is a deliberate, conscious choice, or protestation of some worthy cause or another, but it isn't. I don't eat meat simply because I have a very weak stomach. I've tried meat. Lots of times. But for some reason, the texture of fish or birds or anything meaty, combined with the thought of grinding flesh in my mouth is a near-guaranteed way to make me puke. I've been that way since I was a toddler, (much to the dismay of my parents, seeing as how most of our low-income meals were made of Hamburger Helper.)
I'm not a complete failure. I've lost a few pounds already, and I work out most days - even if it's playing the Wii or something, it counts. (Trust me, it has to. Because I've already checked around, and there are no "Dragging Sloth" bootcamps or "Step Aerobics for Softies.") But the real reason I can't count myself a failure is because I haven't given up. I haven't exercised some days, and I've OD'ed on ice cream on others, but the key is that I'm not going to quit. I will keep plugging away, one day at a time, and I know I will succeed.
This is the same principle I have applied to my writing. Some days I question whether I should keep submitting or just write for myself. There are times I'm so blown away by someone else's books or blogs, I think there is no way I will get published if Jane Doe still isn't. But that stubborn little part of me, the same one that forces my reluctant carcass onto the treadmill most days, will not let me quit.
(This is what my torso looks like. Well, probably. It's just hidden under an inch or two of fat right now.)
I do believe, with every fiber of my being, that I will be a novelist. It may not be this month or even this year, but if I continue on this path, sticking to my own resolutions, I know I will succeed. I hope you will stick with it too. Whatever your resolutions or goals or dreams may be, I hope your writing is one vice you'll always refuse to let go.