Dreams vs. Goals

The other day, a writer friend of mine and I were talking about our goals. She is a fiction writer, and has actively been working on her writing for more years than me. In fact, she’s finished two manuscripts and is in the process of editing one of them. I on the other hand have a handful of articles in the local city paper, a few finished essays, and a lot of incomplete, yet buzzing ideas. Do you have any goals for the next year? she asked me.

“Well, it’s a stretch right now, but I want to be published in Bitter Southerner,” I said. “Maybe in 2019.”

“That’s a great dream, but that’s not really a realistic goal,” my friend replied. “You can’t control whether or not you get published in Bitter Southerner. A goal should be something that you can control.”

“Maybe your goal,” she continued, “could be to submit an essay to Bitter Southerner.”

I felt a little wounded–was this just a way to lower my expectations and avoid the pain of rejection? But I knew my friend was right. She shared with me that her goal was to finish the edits on her manuscript, not to get a book published.

I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. My goals shouldn’t require divine intervention. They should be realistic, under my control, achievable. Achievable goals are not a lowering of expectations. They are the stepping stones to achieving the larger big picture dream. For me, that dream is to get an essay published in Bitter Southerner, which in itself is part of a larger fantasy of my future writing career.

And here’s the thing, dreams and fantasies have nothing to do with THE WORK. My fantasy future self has a cool edgy hair cut and stylish, cohesive wardrobe. My first book is about to be published–it’s a compilation of essays that critics are calling “triumphant, breathtaking…” I have a beach house where I spend the summers with my husband. There’s a tidy desk in front of a window that overlooks the water. This is where I drink coffee and spend my mornings writing. Continue reading “Dreams vs. Goals”

At the Heart of It All

The dream of being a writer is at the heart of it all. It is the seed, dormant and ungerminated. It is the pale cicada larva, nestled within the cool earth. The dream is all potential with no certainty.

The dream is scary because to know it is to risk losing it. The dream is scary because it is powerful. It is an act of faith. It is religion.

We shroud our writerly dream in mystery, swaddle it in reverence. We create a small shrine and decorate our dream with flowers and trinkets. We light candles in its honor. We pretend that the dream is ephemeral, like fate and anti matter. The dream is more beautiful this way because it is not real. It is easier to light another candle in devotion than it is to burn down the church. Continue reading “At the Heart of It All”