Not that I put a whole lot of stock into it, but for shits and grins I pulled out my deck of tarot cards and gave myself a reading for the new year. I tried the zodiac spread for the first time, since I usually do the Celtic Cross and I can't interpret that spread worth a darn. Over and over and over, every card I pulled indicated change. A big change. And to underline that fact and stick an exclamation point on it, the final card I drew was the Death card (which sounds ominous, but really only means a complete change or an end of an era). It's as if the universe is telling me to strap myself in good and tight, that 2010 is going to be a whirlwind.
Usually January is a sluggish month for me. I'm a confirmed resolutionist, as my early blog posts will attest. Every year I try to get my ducks in a row and try to exert some control over my life. This year, not so much. I'm singularly focused on my new diet, and a comittment to getting my eating habits/weight/metabolism/emotional response to/cravings for food permanently sorted out. I probably sound a little obsessive about this, but at 33, with all four branches of my family tree dripping with heart disease, as well as more than a fair share of diabetes, I see it as now or never. Beyond that, let the chips fall where they may.
But even before January 1st, my body was finished with its last hurrah food binge and I was ready to start my new diet. I went to the gym for the first time in months and felt great afterwards. And I spent New Year's Eve reading (for the first time ever-how pathetic am I?) the first three books of the Twilight series, and became so inspired by Bella and Edward's relationship that I sat down on New Year's Day and the entire first chapter of my new novel came screaming out of me (and from my male protagonist's perspective even--I can't tell you how hard I thought that was going to be to write).
This novel is proving to be so easy to write--and so good (even if I do say so myself)--that I can barely contain my excitement. And yet, unlike my other novel, I am not obsessing over writing every day. If the words are there, I write them down. If not, I don't even worry about it.
I'm keeping a notebook of the novel--with pictures cut from magazines of how I think my characters look, snippets of their conversations that fall into my head, notes about the historical period, plot points I'm arguing about with myself, and I just jot the stuff down as it comes. And in the meantime, I keep telling myself I'm not writing a book. Apparently my muse responds well to reverse psychology. :-)
Maybe this will be my year.