A New Year, A New Declaration—and Invitation :-)

Instructions for a perfect New Year's celebration:

First, you enter a tiny, secret door hidden among the books...


Walk past some miniature melting skulls...


Enjoy an abundance of fancy food...


Meet your lovely host:

( theoblack 's costume was gorgeous)

And hostess:

(She was beautiful, but I cringed every time blackholly tilted her head. Creepiest. Mask. Ever!)

And mingle with mystery guests:

( libba_bray )


( bgliterary )


(My husband Peter)


( robinwasserman )


(E—he was a Ravenclaw student dressed up as a cat warrior—I'm not sure how this came about)


(J—Who had an incredible costume!)

E and J, our country mouse and city mouse twins, had a blast together as usual. I love how they pick up after not seeing each other for months. At one point, I went to see if they wanted to play a game or something because they were just sitting in their fancy chairs. They said, "No, we're still catching up. We have a lot to talk about!" So sweet.

At midnight, everyone rang in the New Year and sang Auld Lang Syne at the top of our lungs, even though most of us didn't know all the words. It was magic and festive and such a happy place to be.

The next day, we went back over to follow through on what has become a tradition: Sharing our hopes and dreams for the coming year. Last year, I declared 2010 The Year of Being Brave.

This year, as we went around the room and I listened to so many wise, giving writers who I admire tremendously, I realized just that. They are writers. Real writers. It's who they are. Their goals and dreams defined this. All of them listed ideas that would expand their craft. Challenge them to grow and explore. They talked of writing screenplays and musicals and nonfiction and new series. And I know they will. Because writing is what they do and who they are and what makes them grow. And they've all accepted that. Maybe they never had to.

It's a little different for me.

Lots of times, I don't feel like a writer. Maybe it's because I'm afraid. Maybe it's because I still don't know how to put my writing first.

I can't say with confidence that I will sell my next book. I still can't believe I sold one in the first place.

But why? I mean, I know I did. I sold four, even. Why so much doubt? Why so much fear? Why, when people ask me what I do, do I still hesitate and wonder how to answer?

I know this is what I want. I want to create. I want to improve my craft. I want to make goals for writing something bigger and better and braver.

I want to be a writer. I want to embrace the title. I want to embrace what it means. I want to allow myself—give myself permission—to do the work. I know this entails a lot of change. I think my biggest challenge is taking myself seriously enough as a writer to put my writing first. That's the key.

If I had a 9-5 job with a boss, this wouldn't be a problem. So... why is it so different?

Yes. Why?

There is no good reason any more.

That's so hard and uncomfortable to say, but I want to believe it's true.

I want to believe this is who I am and can be.

And so...

I am declaring 2011 The Year of Being A Writer.

Who's with me?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Monday Morning Warm-Up:

What do you want to be?