This is Part II of a two-part series on dreams, goals, and the creative life. If you’d like to catch up on Part I, you can read it here.
In my last newsletter, I talked about the concepts of circles of concern (things you care about but can’t change), circles of control (things you can change all by yourself), and how, even though I didn’t know it, I’ve been applying this philosophical framework to my creative life since 2017. I detailed a portion of my staggering multitude of wants, which can be so overwhelming that they stymie my creative process, and I shared that one way I deal with them is by framing them in terms of dreams and goals. As part of that framework, I separate out my dreams—that is, wants that are in my circle of concern, but not control—and give them up to the universe so I can focus on what’s most important to me: the writing.
Which brings me to the second half of my Stoic-esque framework: goals. I believe that goals, unlike dreams, are wants that are firmly within my circle of control. They tend to be duller, less dramatic than dreams—they’re the work, the daily grind, the small steps in what I think most writers hope will be a long, adventuresome journey.
But for me they’re as essential to that journey as dreams.
I like to define goals as concrete, attainable achievements with outcomes that are completely up to me. For some examples, we can take another look at the same sampling of wants from last time:
Writing my next book. Writing my next book well. Writing one chapter. (Please, just let me get through this chapter!) Earning out my advance. Getting a good review. Getting a starred review. No, six! Selling foreign rights. Getting a movie deal. Being asked to write the script. Having a pretty cover. Winning an award. Making a best-seller list. (Staying on a best-seller list.) Having a signing line that lasts for hours. Basking in the adulation of my peers. Getting sent on book tour. Getting sent on book tour internationally. Walking onto the set of a TV show based on my book. Meeting the actors! Being asked to sign a book for a reader who loves it more than anything else they’ve ever read.
Again, most of these are outside my circle of control, but there are a few that I consider goals: Writing my next book. Writing my next book well. Writing one chapter. (Please, just let me get through this chapter!)
And they’re all about the writing. I think that’s because in the business of publishing, the writing is the one thing that’s entirely in my hands. Pretty much everything else in this industry relies on other people—agents, editors, executives, sales reps, booksellers, publicists, critics, influencers, readers, the list goes on and on—but the writing? The writing is singularly, gloriously mine. No one else gets the words down. No one else is going to write them for me. At the end of any given day, it’s just me. My time. My energy. My self-discipline. My skill. My perseverance. My courage. My drive.
I’d like to add a caveat here, because even within the circle of control, there’s a lot that depends on circumstance, availability, and opportunity. “Attainability” is going to look different to everyone, and I don’t think that should go unsaid. Sometimes—frequently—so much is out of our control. Time, money, support. So much can’t be helped or negotiated—there are only so many hours in the day, and we have only so many resources (internal and external), and there are so many other demands on our time and minds and hearts. That’s okay. That’s to be expected. Sometimes—frequently—goals need to change to fit the circumstances, even if that means shrinking them or even setting them down for a while.
I think the main thing is to be honest and patient with yourself, wherever you’re at. Sometimes you’re giving it your best effort. Sometimes you could be giving more. Sometimes you’re giving too much. Sometimes you simply can’t. All of these are legitimate possibilities, and I’ve experienced them all at one time or another. That’s okay. Things happen, and they happen to all of us. We do what we can.
Now, I’ve always been a goal-oriented person. I like having a task. I like the feeling of accomplishment I get when I complete it.
If you’ve been here a while, you might guess that I have big, splashy goals to match my big, splashy ambitions. All those challenges! All those dreams! I’d have guessed that myself until I started trying to codify my thoughts for this newsletter, but when I looked back on the past ten years, I realized, much to my surprise, that my goals actually tend to be quite simple… and rather vaguely shaped.
Every year since I started pursuing publishing seriously, I try to set a career goal for myself. Not a dream. Not, Get a literary agent, or, Sign a book deal. (Both of these rely on other people, so they’re not within my circle of control.) Just a goal. Something concrete and attainable and totally up to me.
In 2013, the year before I signed with my agent, my goal was this: Finish a first draft by the end of the year. This is probably the biggest goal I’ve ever set for myself, but it’s still simple, straightforward, measurable—I’d know I’d hit it when I typed “the end” on a novel-length manuscript.
I pushed myself for months, working toward that goal. I agonized and sweated and stayed up to late. I skipped a New Year’s Eve party to write the last chapter, but in the end I did meet it. Concrete. Attainable. Goal achieved.
Depending on where you are in your journey, another goal might be, Get my manuscript in querying shape. (After finishing my manuscript, that was my goal for 2014.) Or, Attend at least one writing workshop in the next three months. As per the above caveat, attainability depends on the circumstances, but I’d consider these goals concrete. You know you’ve reached them when you send out that first query letter or show up for the first day of workshop. They also rely, overwhelmingly, not on anyone else’s agency but your own. Are you getting the words down? Are you researching opportunities that are available to you? Are you committing your time and effort in the ways that you can?
In my last newsletter, I wrote a little about a 2017 writing retreat hosted by fellow YA author E.K. Johnston (Pretty Furious, Aetherbound), who not only asked us to speak our dreams into the universe but also prompted us to set goals for ourselves. (What is within your circle of control? What is attainable? What is concrete?) I no longer recall my goal for 2017, but I remember clearly my goal for the year after that. 2018 was the year the third and final book in The Reader Trilogy came out, and, for the first time in three years, I didn’t have a book under contract. I could write whatever I wanted…
Except I didn’t know yet what I was going to write.
My goal for 2018 was: Complete a significant portion of my next project. That’s it. Simple, vaguely shaped. Not a novel but a portion of a project. Nothing too grand, just some good writing. The goal was, at its core, about the words, because among all the uncertainties of publishing, the words were then—and are still—the one thing I can control. How many hours I devote to writing. How clear my head is when I get to my desk. How many words get typed. At the end of the day, it’s just me and the writing, which is just how I like it.
What strikes me as interesting, now that I look back at my 2018 goal, is that it’s so undefined. I didn’t name my next project or set guidelines for a “significant portion” or explain what it means to be “complete.”
(I suspect now, from the vagueness of my goals, that I’m fairly intuitive when it comes to my writing. I know a project is right when I feel it. How do I feel it? I just know. But those are thoughts for some future post.)
In early 2018, I started drafting what I was calling a “YA literary postapocalyptic fantasy.” I wrote 10,000 words—a “significant portion”—enough to send to my editor as an option for my next book. I revised and edited and polished them up. Solid plot, engaging characters, beautiful language—“complete.” Then I ran it by my agent, who said, Great, this will be our option material. I just need a synopsis.
Check. Done. Goal achieved.
Well, not quite.
Because while I was writing the synopsis for my YA literary postapocalyptic fantasy, I came up with the idea for We Are Not Free.
The project was totally unlike anything I’d written before. At the time, I considered myself a speculative writer, but We Are Not Free was historical fiction, a novel-in-stories about Japanese American teenagers growing up in the U.S. incarceration camps of World War II. No alternate worlds. No magic. Nothing I was used to. But I knew I had to try it, even if that meant completely switching lanes.
The direction of my goal changed, but not the goal itself. I completed another “significant portion” of a novel, this time for We Are Not Free, and sent it off to my agent.
Later that year, I signed the contract for it, and it became my next project.
I know selling the book wasn’t strictly within my circle of control—that’s where the nebulous circle of influence comes in, plus a healthy dose of good luck—but the writing certainly was. The writing was concrete and attainable and flexible enough to change when my creative instincts were telling me to go in a different direction than I’d initially thought.
Check. Done. Goal achieved.
Here’s another caveat: I think how well- or ill-defined your goals are probably depends on how you work best. I like a goal with a little wiggle room, but someone else might need more detailed markers for success. You might need to know your next project is a middle grade sci-fi murder mystery. Or you might set parameters like 25,000 words or up to the midpoint when it comes to how much you need to write. Rather than complete, you might say, Finish a rough draft, or, Revise at least twice. I think what’s important, if you’re considering goal-setting, is that the goal is clear and compatible with the way you get the work done.
People say that publishing is an industry where the goalposts are always changing, and I’ve found that to be true. It’s been true for my wildest dreams and my smallest goals—there’s always something new to look forward to, always something new to want.
You finished your first draft? Great. Time to revise. You sent out your first round of queries? Congratulations! Start thinking about your next project. You attended your first workshop? Wonderful. Now you’ve got to practice what you’ve learned.
Some people might find this constant goal-setting exhausting, but I kind of love it. The forward motion of it. The act of looking farther up the mountain or farther down the road. What’s the next thing? And the one after that? What are you reaching for? Now that you’ve made it here, what else is next?
This time last year, I would’ve said my goal for 2024 was to complete a draft of my next book. I would’ve hoped to have met my goal by June at the latest and set another goal from there.
But as circumstances change, goals change with them. And they have really changed for me this year.
I haven’t talked about it publicly, but I’ve spent the better part of the last eleven months not writing. I just haven’t been well enough. Since October 2023, I’ve been struggling with my health—nothing life-threatening, but severe enough to throw my entire life out of balance. Without going into detail, the worst consequence of it all has been that I couldn’t write. My brain, once so lively and reliable, just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t grasp the shape of a story. Couldn’t string a sentence together, much less a paragraph. Couldn’t imagine anything beyond the blankness of the page.
I couldn’t do my job. I couldn’t do the thing that I love. I couldn’t do the thing that, in large part, makes me who I am.
In January 2024, I emailed my agent and editor telling them I had to take a step back from my career to focus on my health. Unlike other years, I didn’t set myself any writing goals—they simply weren’t attainable. I barely got through the launch of Kindling and the promotional work that went with it. I couldn’t have written a “significant portion” of anything, much less an entire novel.
Instead, my primary task this year has been to get healthy. To find a way to make my brain work. To get to a place where I can even begin to start thinking about goals again.
And I am, I think, slowly on the mend.
A couple months back, I finally felt able to set myself a new goal: One day a week, when I feel up to it, work on my book.
It’s the humblest of goals I’d ever set. (But it’s also been a humbling year.) One day a week. That’s all I was asking of myself, and only when I was feeling healthy enough to sustain it. According to this goal, I didn’t even have to write anything—I could simply think about my book, play with it, outline it, daydream about it. Any of these things would have worked. All of them would have counted toward my goal.
And even then—even then—it took me another couple months to feel up to it, to feel well enough, to feel like I could take even the tiniest of steps without crumbling, like the road was once again under my feet.
It wasn’t until the end of October, over a year since I got sick, that I was able to hit my goal.
And it felt great, but with all my struggles this year, I know it might not last. I might not be able to do this next week, or a month from now, or next year.
That’s okay. (I’m trying to tell myself that’s okay.) The goal will still be there when I’m ready for it.
I may be taking small steps up the mountain right now, but, looking back, I don’t know if the steps were ever actually that much bigger. The words still get written, one by one by one. The story still builds itself, page by page by page. Depending on where you’re at, the journey—that is, the writing—may take a little longer, but the journey itself remains the same.
You set a goal, and you work at it. You put in your time, your energy, your skill. You meet that goal, or maybe the goal changes. Maybe you take a break. You get back to it when you can. More time, more energy, more skill. You push yourself. You grow a bit. You meet your goal, or maybe you surpass it.
Goal achieved.
What’s next?
Small steps. Forward motion. And after that?
Again.
One day a week, when I feel up to it. That’s all I’m asking of myself. A simple goal, vaguely shaped. Just one day a week.
Once I can sustain that, I’m going to make it two.
I’m having a lot of fun writing these longer form posts. If they’re something you’re into, let me know by subscribing:
In case you missed it
Kindling’s earned some lovely new accolades! This month we hit School Library Journal’s Best Young Adult Books 2024, Cosmopolitan’s 25 Best Young Adult Books of 2024, New York Public Library’s Best Books for Teens 2024, Chicago Public Library’s Best Teen Fiction 2024, Kirkus Reviews’ Best Young Adult Books 2024, and Booklist’s Editors’ Choice: Books for Youth, 2024! It’s such an honor to see Kindling alongside such wonderful titles. Be sure to check out the lists for TBR inspiration!
If you’d like to gift one of my books to a loved one, but you’re not sure which, take a look at this handy-dandy gift guide I made for you:
Buy links: Kindling | A Thousand Steps into Night | We Are Not Free | The Reader Trilogy
What I’m into these days
Now seems like a good time for poetry. Here are a few that have crossed my path this month: this conversation between Lady Macbeth & Macbeth, this advice on resistance by Louise Erdrich, “After Death” by Roger Reeves.
I recently finished Orbital by Samantha Harvey, and the prose is absolutely gorgeous! It’s a slim 200-page volume that follows six astronauts across sixteen orbits of the planet earth, chronicling their thoughts, musings, and daily lives. To me, each orbit feels like more of a meditation than a chapter in a story, a reflection on what it means to be human, what it means to have a planet like Earth, what it means to be in space, what it means to see things from such a vast perspective. I found it lovely and contemplative, so if you’re in a similar mood, I recommend taking a look.
Tessaku, a nonprofit dedicated to preserving stories of the Japanese American incarceration, has just released some apparel with mon inspired by some of the camps. The designs by Brittany Arita are absolutely beautiful, and they have options for both Tule Lake and Minidoka. If you’re looking for a unique gift this holiday season, be sure to check them out!