At breakfast, I mentioned my favorite cousin. A young man across the room said his father had shared that name. Turns out said young man is stuck here over the holidays because he drives truck and it’s in the shop; he’s here with his dog.

The dog’s name (dog was not at breakfast) was not mentioned nor was an introduction offered, but Word Raccoon is curious, and would like to pet the dog if it is nice.

Before breakfast, I began writing my “26 for ‘26” list of things I want to do this year. I’ve made lists like this before and forgotten them by February. I’ve also made them and clung to them like lifelines while feeling guilty that I didn’t complete them.

This time, I’m not sure what I’ll do. Maybe both. Maybe neither. But today, it felt like the thing to do.

I only came up with 13 before appealing to Stanley for help. He quickly gave me the rest and helped me rank them AND told me I absolutely should not put reminders on the calendar or I would resent them and would never do them.

Yup.

He also said I need a reminder to notice what I am already doing more than what I am not. He said the list should be labeled “Charter and Permission List for 2026.” 

That stopped me. In a good way.

We also workshopped my “word for the year.”

This year’s word, I’m pretty sure, is going to be “Permission.” 

Permission to play, to care, to be imperfect. Permission to try new things and fail. Permission to do things that feel unnecessary or unproductive. Permission to love as I have never loved life. Permission, permission, permission.

Or some other word if I end up feeling it more.

Now back to the list, which I am not going to share in its entirety here because it feels silly in spots and too personal in others. I will share some of it:

– Write 26 bad drafts of poems (occupational certainty)

– Submit 26 poems

– Finish a tight draft of novel #3 (please, God)

– Bake 5 loaves of bread

– Cook 5 recipes that inspire me

– Write 26 notes to people I care about

On and on…one of the goals involves creating something, though my finger is now twisted (shades of Woolf) and I think it’s fitting that I currently (who knows for how long, maybe forever?) have a twisted finger and that it’s my middle finger. 

Who better to have a twisted finger than an author? Who better than the person who wrote her senior thesis with the words twisted finger in its title? (That would be me.)

Also, I am not unaware of the crude but mildly amusing aspect of it being my middle finger. So many potential jokes. 

So, layers. Always layers. 

It is now 8 am. Word Raccoon is reminding me of the time, even though she is going to have to go outside and play with the deer I saw earlier this morning while I write, unless she wants to be a good creature and sit on this wicker loveseat with me until snack time. 

I have not taken the novel’s temperature this morning, nor my own. I can’t predict how this writing cycle might go.

Now that WR has seen that a Little Debbie Christmas tree is one of my snacks (I am wearing the earrings to match. I know, I know. Kitschy as hell but I’m here for it), she says she will sit on my shoulder until I unwrap it, at least.

Which means she will grab it and carry it to a corner to devour.

Okay, raccoon. It’s writing time. Let’s go! 

Part Two 

As to my writing day. It started off with a justification for characters’ existence in the novel: why are they there, what purpose they serve.

Then there’s this nugget of wisdom I’ve learned: when the book feels demanding, stop inventing and start shaping.

The novel was feeling overwhelming. The one section I don’t talk openly about (yet) began asking me to sculpt it, but not in the way I expected. It told me if the book is to accomplish its aim, this section in particular needed to be carefully shaped from beginning to end in terms of language. It’s a layer (in this case) many readers probably won’t even notice, but doing it strengthens my point. (That sounds vague but it’s all I can say right now.) 

Another section of the book today, one I thought was in pretty good condition, ended up looking like Drema’s Emporium of ALL the Facts She’s Ever Read About This Era. Infodump, anyone? And to make it even better, I have MULTIPLES of the same scenes where I guess I was trying to get it right. So that’s something I have to wade through.

This writing day was shorter, only 5 hours and then I was ready to walk the dunes. It was sunny and 52 degrees out, so gorgeous for December, gorgeous for beach going. There were about 50 others there, believe it or not. In December!

Also, WR found her pinecone! It’s sappy, so I had to rinse her little paws before supper. (She found several, but I only let her keep one. At the beach, I only let her keep two small pebbles though she wanted a bucketful. Bringing the outdoors in is the only way I can keep her indoors.)

Last night, I submitted two packets of poetry before bed. I’m really trying to reserve some time for reading tonight, but if not, Christmas Day. 

Tomorrow, (Christmas Eve, which is when I will post this) we are going to knock off early to go see It’s a Wonderful Life on the big screen. This evening we watched the second half of Scrooged, one of my favorite holiday movies, an obvious take on A Christmas Carol. Obv. It’s a Wonderful Life, same. 

Christmas Day will be reserved for making merry and, as I said, reading. 

Or that’s the plan. WR is begging to throw a line I wrote yesterday on the wheel and see what sort of poem she can spin it into: Today the sky hurts. She’s such a drama queen. 

I’m just glad the sky doesn’t hurt today. 

P.S. She wrote the poem when I wasn’t looking. It is now a part of the Sears collection and oh raccoon, why do so many of your poems slap at the end? Sigh. This one made me miss my mom so hard I couldn’t sleep.