So, Holcomb, here we are.
A brand new year.
For you. For me, it’s 2017. But you knew that. You’re a smarty.
High praise, coming from you. I mean, from me. In the future. So, how’s the outlook?
Well, a year ago you were dickering with that short story. Rewriting it.
Oh, yes. A year ago, you were spreading it around you’re rewriting that novel.
I’m planning to blog about it! I’m going to declare my commitment, to all thirty-eight of my followers!
Sixty-eight now. And you dropped the commitment.
Yow. Scary word, commitment.
You’re good at making excuses, too. That copywriting business you started? The one puttering along with one client?
One GREAT client. He keeps me hopping year-round. He wants me for the whole next season, too.
Agreed. A great client. But your plan is to get more than one client.
One GREAT client.
The plan is to beef up your clientele.
You’ve still got the one.
No notifying my LinkedIn contacts?
No cold-calling, cold-emailing, making a list of places to contact?
What the hell have you been doing for a year!?
Not me, YOU.
Me? I haven’t even begun. You’ve already been. What the hell took up all of your time?
YOUR time. The Bachelor.
The Bachelor. That stupid reality show. On Monday nights. The one that highlights women in their worst possible behavior.
Oh, that. But it’s only on for a season, right?
Then The Voice.
Okay, so there goes Monday nights. What about the rest of the week? Surely I did something the rest of the week.
The Voice was on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, too.
Listen, you. I’m not letting you hijack my dreams with your stupid reality shows.
YOUR stupid reality shows. YOU’RE the one choosing to watch them, escaping your own reality. I’m in 2017, remember? Hello! The view’s swell from here. And I’m finishing up the short story.
No more dickering?
One last dicker. That’s it. I’m sending it off to journals.
And the novel?
It’s either the novel or the blog. I haven’t decided which one gets my attention.
And the copywriting? Please tell me you’re not shelving the copywriting business.
Nope. Actually, I had a brilliant insight: If I want to be a successful copywriter, I need to act like one. So I’m putting on my copywriting hat, I’m rolling up my sleeves, I’m snapping on my suspenders. And I’m asking myself: Do copywriters watch The Bachelor? No. Do copywriters futz around on Twitter? No. Not unless they’ve finished their work for the day. Do copywriters blog about rewriting a novel rather than rewriting it? Not likely. Now, every day (except Sundays, when I rest), I’m doing one task on my list of tasks to do to be a legitimate copywriter. I’m already writing a marketing plan. I’m scouting around for networking groups. I’m applying for that Tax ID number. I’m…well, you get the picture. So you know what that means, Holcomb. You’ve got one year to get The Bachelor and The Voice and Twitter and the blog and anything else you’re distracting yourself with, out of your system.
Ah, cheer up. The year isn’t a complete loss. You do get a business license and business cards. You find mentors. You become a founding member of the Jerry Jenkins Writer’s Guild.
And you win The Liebster Award for blogging.
And you manage to write some decent blog posts.
You’ll find out.
Ah, c’mon. Give me a hint.
See you in 2017.