Indecision=Procrastination

I've come to the conclusion that indecision is just procrastination in disguise. And procrastination is just fear: of failure, success, fully living one's life, and probably lots of other things as well. No matter what I'm working on, I tell myself that I should be working on something else. The closer I get to finishing a project, the more likely I am to think of some reason why I should stop working on it. I did this most recently with Playing House. I have 26,000 words, a nearly completed novella, and a publisher in mind to submit to. All I need is the ending. And then that 'voice' comes along and tells me that I should make  it a novel. It could be a novel. There's nothing wrong with this idea, except that it's a way to put off finishing it for a while longer. Months and months longer.

Mired in indecision, I changed directions completely a few weeks ago and decided that it's time to get serious about finishing the mainstream novel that I've been writing and re-writing for a very long time. There's nothing wrong with finishing the mainstream novel. I definitely should to it. So I've been working on it a bit lately, and running into---you guessed it---indecision. Is it really mainstream or is a serious contemporary romance? Both could work. But I need to make up my mind before I go any further into the story.

Suddenly I'm feeling the urge to finish, Playing House, the novella.

Will this ever get easier?

Resolutions that I will absolutely positively without a doubt---not achieve

I have come to the conclusion that setting goals is a direct route to failure. Okay, maybe not for everyone, but definitely for me. I've followed this pattern since I was six: set goal, decide it's too hard to achieve, give up, and feel bad about myself. That's it, story of my life, history of my failures. And if you're wondering what kind of goal a six year old sets I must confess, the neighbor girl, who was all of nine, is actually the one who decided I needed to go on a diet. She became my personal trainer and forced me to jump rope. Afterward, I went home and had a snack. When the evil Michelle asked my brother what I was doing the little traitor told her about my toast with jam. I was filled with shame.

So after many many years of setting goals; health goals, writing goals, 'change myself into an entirely different (Better) person by next  year,' goals, I've given up. The following is a list of goals I will NOT achieve.

I will not work out three to five times a week, alternating aerobic workouts with strength training.
I will not eat nine servings a day of fruits and vegetables, cut out all sugar, fat, salt, etc.
I will not lose thirty-five, twenty, or even ten pounds.
I will not finish my mainstream novel, find an agent, get published etc.
I will not sell numerous romance novels, and novellas and become the next self published internet success.
I will not overcome my fear of speaking in front of large groups.
I will not learn to be self confident, gregarious and the life of the party.
I will not learn poise, grace, and charm.
I will not become the new and improved version of myself.

Here is my list of things I absolutely can and will do.

I will breathe.
I will eat.
I will exercise.
I will lose something (Probably my keys, or my cell phone.)
I will write.
A lot.
And maybe finish something.
And maybe submit it
Or maybe self publish it.
Maybe.