I admit it. Recently, I have been failing a lot. While I can meet my daily minimum word count target, I am struggling to reach my stretch goal. Since I aim to develop and constantly improve my productivity, I strive to increase the number of times I exceed my expectations. Because a daily goal needs to be, well, daily.

Time to conduct a study, collect data, crunch numbers and run them through the analysis machine. I discovered a pattern for the days I attained the stretch goal. Before going to bed, I planned. Don’t worry kids, I didn’t create outlines or other complicated drills in this process.

Instead, I set the stage. Each session was different, but they bore similar themes. I prepared the tableau for the next day’s writing period. Think about throwing a barbeque. First, you decide what you want to serve, go shopping, hang decorations, and make a few dishes in advance. The day of the party, you cook. I developed a new tactic. Each evening, I prepare for a blowout, so in the morning, I only need to sit and write. We’ll see how it goes.

What have you learned from your failures?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Do you gaze at our brilliant blue atmosphere as clouds drift by, and imagine pirate ships, cannon fire, and pirates swinging from the yardarm? Do you see creamy silver-lined bunnies chewing the dandelions and carrot tops they stole from Mr. McGregor’s garden?

I spy an elephant ankle-deep in a river, using its trunk to splash water on its back. I have watched puffs of white cotton run from the approaching tempest and wondered if they found a place to hide. Or did the slate gray, rain-laden storm clouds swallow them whole?

The night sky conjures images of galaxies light-years away with extraterrestrials orbiting their planet. I wish upon the north star, plastered against velvety black heaven, I wonder if someone in another world is seeking answers from this same illumination. Are they alone, frightened, in need of a friend?

What do you conjure when you look upwards?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

It doesn’t happen often anymore, but when it does, I freeze. Someone asks me to complete a form, sign a birthday card, or jot a note for them. Heaven forbid they need my signature. My longhand is pretty much illegible to anyone but me. In school, my classmates never asked to borrow my notes more than once. It made sense to me, but when I looked at their elegant script, I hid my paper. I grew tired of losing exam points and experiencing the walk of shame to the teacher’s desk to explain that I had the correct answer.

I rejoiced when the teacher required typed submissions. The font removed judgment, and censor. Times New Roman masked my personality and the hidden secrets in my scrawling. My words stood on their own merit, untainted by the reader’s assumptions revealed by my scratching. The ink color, the direction of slant, the size of my loops, or my sentences rising as they cross the page, no longer came into question.

My handwriting always draws comments, so I print. It was self-defense. Every letter carefully executed in capitals. Letters requiring capitalization, I make taller. I am proficient and print faster than most people write. My hand screams annoyance and conveys the nuisance of writing with a pen for others to analyze. Then the questions begin. Are you an architect? An engineer? A scientist? Once they look at my name, they ask if I am a doctor.

What does your handwriting reveal about you?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Few people can claim the success title. Success is awarded to those audacious people who defy the crowd. They embrace different, weird, and eccentric. They court originality, independent thought, and defying groupthink, and they amaze the masses.

It’s normal to desire normalcy, to crave the tribe’s acceptance, and the tribe wants its members to conform. It uses its power, exerting derision to eliminate the “different,” to enforce the homogeneous patterns which define the collective.

The road is lonely, being a writer requires solitary hours spent creating. We agonize over our decision to deviate from the crowd, acutely aware of our sacrifice, as we subject ourselves to the contempt of the tribe.  It’s the price demanded of those who embark on a path precious few dare travel.

Do you have the courage to join the superstars?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer