Lose weight, get fit and guess what, by Catriona

 A new year is upon us! How do you plan for your writing calendar? 

I've not been seething exactly, but at least rippling, with envy reading Minds saying they're setting goals and taking stock. My writing calendar doesn't run January to December; it runs deadline to deadline. At the moment I've got two first drafts done and I'm fixing the first one, before fixing the second one, before deciding, over the summer, what to write next and then, in September, starting again. It'll be the autumn when I pretend that I'm going to start keeping character bios and stop having panics about the dark side of pantsing.

But - and luckily for this blog - I'm a great maker of New Year's resolution for life in general. And a fair to medium keeper of them too. E.g. two years ago, I resolved to work in the garden for an hour every morning and stone the crows but by the middle of last year the place was looking pretty good. (There's a reason I didn't nip out there and take a pic of right now, mind you.)

So all that's left is getting down to one bottle of vodka and forty roll-ups a day. Nah, I don't smoke or drink but this year's resolutions do include the time-honoured "lose weight and get fit". I know, I know, but hear me out. Last July, see, I was fit, then an injury put me in a wheelchair, leg brace, and physiotherapy, while self-pity suggested that cake and pizza were an important part of recovery. So my resolution is actually 'Lose the weight and get fit again". Is that different? We'll see. 

I've got another top ten resolution and I think this one is related to my writing life. (Wait - actually I think health and fitness is related to writing too. Strong necks and backs help us type, right? Good sleep and fresh air help us think.) But also, at the tail end of last year someone in a Q&A asked me how I stay positive and fill the tank. My answer was rambling (I started with "Positive? Are you kidding? I'm ready to kick things and scream until my voice runs out.") but the cause of any periods of full tank I do get seems to boil down to: don't consume short-form content chosen for me by an algorithm and served on a phone.

So, doubling down on the choice to repair and protect my attention span is my big aim for 2026. I'll read my current book whatever it is (right now it's Tayari Jones' Leaving Atlanta), go out to watch films (still haven't seen Hamnet; can't decide about Marty Supreme) and binge telly (Bookish looks good), but I won't lose time scrolling, won't click on anything I didn't search for, won't unmute the passing ads for revolutionary bras, all-in-one make-up sticks and meal-kit delivery subscriptions. Well, I already don't do that because: I will die in an underwire; I know that every lipstick in the world can be used as rouge and eyeshadow; and I can't imagine a life without chopping boards and leftovers.

It's mystifying why we scroll, isn't it? No one ever stops scrolling with a satisfied sigh and lifts their head to beam at the world from a well of benevolence. We scroll until we hate ourselves, until we've seen something so revolting or enraging we throw the phone away, until we're cold and hungry and the sun's gone down. But we don't have to.

Cx