Every Monday, I post here on Tumblr a MonDiary entry, a look back at the highlights of the previous week and/or an account of the expectations I have for the week to come. This Monday, I talk about why I was AWOL last week. Here’s my MonDiary: 

So I haven’t really posted anything last week, huh? I’ve been very busy with work and I’m the kind of person who puts everything into something or nothing at all. Which is probably the reason that I haven’t finished my damn novel yet. It’s a bad, bad, bad habit - this waiting for the right moment thing. Still…I do it. It’s a habit after all.

Anyway, work. I was talking about work. I’m a freelance writer. And for work, I needed to read a poem. It’s called The Obligation to Be Happy by Linda Pastan. I thought I’d share it with you.

The Obligation to Be Happy

By Linda Pastan

Every Monday, I post here on Tumblr a MonDiary entry, a look back at the highlights of the previous week and/or an account of the expectations I have for the week to come. This Monday, I rant about my broken resolutions. Here’s my MonDiary:

I’ve already broken my resolutions. I know it’s so unoriginal to come up with resolutions for the New Year, but I still made some. Like, for instance, to post my content consistently from Monday to Friday on this blog. Not that hard in theory. Right? 

But then, last week, I got too busy to come up with anything for Friday. I know I should have prepared something the weekend before. That was the plan. But procrastination, baby. It’s a hard habit to break.

Which is also one of my resolutions. Lol.

Writing every day in my journal. That’s another one.

The classic “I’ll work out more.”

The other classic “I’ll eat better.”

The not-so-classic “I’ll be nicer to people.”

Or the even more precious “I’ll work on my novel every day.”

And so on.

Every Monday, I post here on Tumblr a MonDiary entry, a look back at the highlights of the previous week and/or an account of the expectations I have for the week to come. This Monday, I ponder on my sick and unproductive week before. Here’s my MonDiary:

Have you ever been super motivated, but in the wrong way? Like, when you’re supposed to finish your final paper for a subject at school that you’re already barely passing, but you suddenly want to clean and organize your room and paint the walls a bright fucking shade of red?

That’s basically me this past week. Old dogs can’t learn new tricks, I guess. (Or sayings.) In my case, it’s really hard for me to create new habits.

But hey, I’m not giving up on myself yet. After all, I was also sick for most of last week. (Still is). So I have a pretty good “excuse” for not doing as much as I wanted to do. Or as much as I needed to do.

(Also, I just started watching Kimmy Schmidt on Netflix. It was a pretty bad week to start watching a new show, huh? Not a good “excuse,” just wanted to put it out there. Full disclosure, I guess, or whatever. Kimmy Schmidt’s so funny, though. That show is good. God, that’s an understatement.)

Every Monday, I post here on Tumblr a MonDiary entry, a look back at the highlights of the previous week and/or an account of the expectations I have for the week to come. And because it’s a new year and a new blog, I start with what I want to do the most this 2017. Here’s my MonDiary:

Many moons ago, I realized something:

I will never be a writer if I don’t write.

It’s a cliché, I know. (And an obvious fact.) Many of the authors I’ve read about have given the same two pieces of advice. One, to read as many books as one can read.  And two, to write constantly. Daily. Make it a part of the routine.

So let’s get the cliché out of the way, shall we?

I want to be a writer. I spent the last two years of my life as a college dropout who broke my parents’ heart to chase The Dream, the dream to put pen to paper, to fill each page with scenes and characters and places that I made up in my mind. I really want to be a fucking writer, to see my name on the front cover of a book, and to honor my parents the way I never did when I decided not to graduate.

Fuck, I want to be a writer.

I want to share my stories with an audience. I want people to hear the voices I hear when I can’t fucking sleep at night, or when I’m in the shower thinking about the great mysteries of life. I want to express, to talk, to have a conversation with people. I want to bring my readers to an adventure that will make them nostalgic, that will hopefully inspire, that will make them feel less alone when they just can’t fucking sleep at night.

Profanities aside, I really do want to be a writer. I’ve wasted way too many moons not doing what I promised myself I would do, what I said I want to do. I think it’s about damn time that I finish what I started. This year will not end without my name on the cover of a book. Goddamn it if it did.