One of the beach cottage rental places in town has a sign that reads “There’s not much here, but what there is – you’re close to it.” The highlight of New Year’s Eve is a giant lighted beach ball being lowered from a fire truck ladder onto the beach, followed by some fireworks.
Ringing in a new year can be pretty darn low-key around here.
I’ve enjoyed reading my blogging friends’ new year’s writing resolutions and watching hordes of people in brand new Lycra work-out clothes stride purposefully along the beach swinging their Christmas hand weights and matching water bottles.
I hope the writing resolutions last longer than most of these exercise routines. Another two, maybe three, weeks and the beach will be back to normal again, crammed instead with lunatic fishermen and young women with prophetic visions, as the January fitness fanaticism fades. At least I hope so.
I’m not much one for new year’s resolutions – the last time I made them was years ago when I was pissed off and wrote up lists of resolutions for my family members to follow. You can imagine how well that went over with them.
I’m sitting here applauding (and reading!) Cathryn Grant as her debut novel, The Demise of the Soccer Moms, hits the streets. And sending another shout out to Linda Cassidy Lewis for deciding to go indie with her debut novel, The Brevity of Roses, during 2011.
I want to join them.
Which means I damn well better finish writing something. I have two works in progress: one that lacks a compelling ending, one lacking a ‘keep on reading!’ middle. They need tender loving care to become something more than a mess of good intentions and unconnected dots.
So that’s what I’m focusing on in 2011: TLC for my WIPs. And getting at least one of these puppies out there into the larger world.
Did I just make a new year’s resolution?
Yeah, I think so.
Yes I did – or close to it, anyway.
Happy New Year, Ya’ll!