By Lisbeth Coiman
Happy New Year!
I believe in the power of intentions. When we decide the path we are going to take, the length of the stride, the weight of each step, we commit ourselves to follow that path. So often we get lost in the minutiae of our lives that we tend to step out of the trail even when we have spoken to the universe what we want to do.
During the past years, I have understood that writing down those intentions, in whatever form an artistic or analytic mind can find, sets a visual reminder of where we want to go and how we plan to get there. The more artistically inclined will create vision boards. Others write their goals in terms of projects, with specific deliverables, time lines, and a break-down of costs. Whatever form it takes, the vision is the starting point of the upcoming year’s journey: growth, value, recognition, promotion, or survival. Meditation is usually necessary to express this vision in a single word and define the path to take. Some writers I know burn candles and sage at this stage of the planning process
Once the vision is clear, the next step is to declare an intention. I usually write them down as if the thing I intend to do has happened already, in past tense. A few years ago I wrote in my planner, “by the end of 2017 I have published my first book,” and I did.
After setting intentions then comes probably the most difficult task to define a goal –understood as a deliverable with a clear final date and a specific numeric term attached to it. For instance, and again using the example of my first book, I Asked the Blue Heron: A. Memoir, the goal was, “By the end of 2017, I have completed all the steps to self-publish this manuscript and have planned its release.” There are some of us who tend to write goals in a more esoteric way. “I want to achieve recognition.” That’s valid too and fits other type of personality, but beware that ambiguity is difficult to measure when the intention is to make progress. If you have difficulty setting goals, LiYun Alvarado teaches an amazing class on goal setting.
What comes next in this planning process is the careful breakdown of the tasks needed to complete that goal. The more specific the goal, the easier it is to come up with the list of task that need to happen and the time line to accomplish them for the goal to be accomplished. Those are the objectives. I tend to write my objectives with action verbs, a to-do list of sorts with specific dates and measurable results. Thus instead of “increase the number of submissions,” I would write, “submit to five publications each month of 2021 for a total of 52 publications in 2021 and a maximum of $500 in submission fees,” or whatever number is higher than the previous year and seems realistic.
As a side note, I should stress that tracking is absolutely necessary to keep the submission process organized and to observe the progress made. New members of WWS are gifted a tracking sheet in their orientation session. Here is my own submission tracking sheet. Moreover, writing specific objectives and deciding on a number of submissions per year also helps to create a tracking sheet for writing costs. Here is my own writing costs tracking sheet. This helps when looking for all those loose receipts in order to file taxes in April.
After we set up a plan and tracking sheets, we can be inclined to howl to the moon on a winter night, for good measure. However, growing as a human and an artist requires little howling and careful planning, discipline, and risk management. Risk management is the informed prediction of what can go wrong and having a second, even a third option prepared.
Last year was unpredictable and disruptive to so many of us. The landscape changed so dramatically that some people even forgot they had any plans and just focused on survival. Those who lost jobs or were cramped in small spaces with an entire family to feed and keep occupied were particularly hit by a sense of despair. However, 2020 served well the creative mind usually distracted by too much turmoil, void of quiet and silence. In seclusion, some of us flourished because we had a plan B. In my case, I had thought I would lose my job and had a Plan B in place. Working remotely, I shred a 20 hour a week commute. So I wrote plenty and in peace and accomplished Plan B during those spare hours.
I do not consider it excessive worrying to think of what can go wrong. What happens if the fellowship is not accepted. What happens if my internet service is interrupted. What happens if my book is not released on time due to the political and public health situation? What happens if I get Covid? My suggestion is to write down a second vision, add a goal, and jot down three or more objectives for each one. There is no need to be so specific for plan B or C, but it helps to have those plans handy. If we learned anything from 2020 is that even the most careful of plans can change. So get your candles and sage and howl to the moon if you need, but write down alternatives goals for this year.
Lisbeth Coiman is an emerging, bilingual writer wandering the immigration path from Venezuela to Canada to the US. She has performed any available job from maid to college administrator, and adult teacher. Her work has been published in Hip Mama, the Literary Kitchen, YAY LA, Nailed Magazine, Entropy, and RabidOak. She was also featured in the Listen to Your Mother Show in 2015. In her self-published memoir, I Asked the Blue Heron (Nov 2017), Coiman celebrates female friendship while exploring issues of child abuse, mental disorder, and her own journey as an immigrant. She currently lives in Los Angeles, where she teaches ESL and dances salsa.