That was one of the prompts at my writing group today. We were celebrating the one-year birthday of the group, so we did a lot of reflecting about the past and projecting about the future. Birthdays are good for that kind of thing.
Here’s what I wrote:
In the next year, I want to keep at this writing thing. I want to work toward developing a regular writing practice. I say work “toward” a disciplined writing practice, because I don’t know that I will ever write every single day for an hour or between the hours of 8 and 10 Monday through Friday. For me, part of the magic of writing is allowing myself to be enchanted by my muse, who is unpredictable and spontaneous with a touch of crazy and fantastic cleavage that always wins my attention.
I will finish my memoir and sell it to a small LGBT publisher. I don’t plan on getting rich. I will help sell my book by organizing book signings and participating in conferences. I will travel to cool, gay-friendly places like Rehoboth, Del., and Provincetown, Mass., and attend Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival where I will dance in the moonlight with the Indigo Girls.
W says that I will be too busy for her when all of this happens. I tell her that she can come with me. This will be a grand adventure for both of us.
I inform W that she can go to this, too. She smiles real big at the thought of being in a room packed with butch women.
My public speaking experience is limited. As a college freshman, I gave an instructional speech on flossing. And there was the dramatic reading class that I took, reciting lines from Neil Simon plays.
“Have you ever spoken on a panel?” my friend asks.
“No,” I reply. “But I will.”