#i almost put an alarm to wake up when the preorders dropped but were trying to be a little normal

[buraikans-back]

🥹

[madamewriterofwrongs]

oooh for the i love you prompts can you do buddie + 12 ?

So sorry this is late, love <3 This was...well, I hope you like it.

I Love You Prompt List

12. Brings an extra coat/scarf because they know you never check the temperature before going out

When We’re Old and Grey

Admittedly, their morning routine had already been a little disrupted when it came time to kiss his boyfriend goodbye. A power outage had killed their alarm, and Christopher had to wake them up with his most innocent ‘If we sleep past the first bell, do I have to go to school today?’; which had both of them bolting out of bed with the speed that came from years of emergency responses.

There was no time for breakfast – thank god for the ability to preorder drive thru (one day of egg sandwiches and apple juice eaten in the car, would not be the end of the world. Probably) – let alone double check that Christopher had actually packed his bag last night like he promised.

“It’s your fault we didn’t get to bed until 3am.” Eddie grumbled, shoving off the pants around his ankles so he could toss them to their rightful owner.

“I think it’s the apartment fire’s fault.” Buck caught the offending cotton, and pulled Eddie’s shirt from the pile on the floor to throw in his face. “We can go back to sleep once Christopher’s at school” he promised.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You wanted to go for a run today. So we’re going for a run after we drop him off.”

If Buck’s grumble made him smile, it was a testament to their years of familiarity – not because he thought his boyfriend was cute when he was grumpy and bedraggled. Not that they were given much of an opportunity to comment further, as the object of their affection was calling down the hallway that he would be late for school.

Eddie pulled the nearest pants over his hips (definitely still Buck’s, but now was not the time for caring about things like property) pushing his sock-less partner out the door.

“You don’t need socks to sit in the passenger seat” he informed him, poking his head into his son’s room to do one final check before they headed towards the door.

“Alright everyone, did we pack our homework?” Eddie clapped his hands while Christopher pulled on his shoes.

“Yes, dad.”

“Did we brush our teeth?”

“Yes, dad.”

“No.” Buck swiped his tongue with a grumble, but a look from Eddie had him ducking his head.

“Did we remember our free reading book on the night stand?”

Christopher bolted up in a panic, steadied by an instinctual hand from Buck. Eddie shook his head at the pair, producing the book from behind his back for the boy to put into his bag.

“Did we pack a sweater for going to Abuela’s tonight?”

“Yes, dad.”

With Christopher packed and ready to go, Eddie shot one last look at his boyfriend as he slipped on his sandals.

“Did we remember our wallet and phone on the dresser?”

“Yes, dad.”

Buck froze. The only way his eyes could grow wider would be if they fell out of their sockets – and they nearly did, for the panic that settled on his face. Though Christopher was still preoccupied with zipping his bag, he clearly heard Buck’s misstep because he giggled wildly while opening the front door. Eddie still hadn’t said anything (which, even Eddie knew, was a bad sign).

His initial reaction at Buck’s words was to tangle the squeezing hand around his heart that reminded him that he was old, and demeaning his boyfriend and eventually, Buck would get sick of him. His second reaction was to laugh at the man’s exhausted mind that had just parroted whatever Christopher was saying. His third reaction, was the startling realization that none of this mattered at the moment.

With a long sigh, Eddie shooed his two favourite people out the door and unlocked the truck for them while he closed up.

He could deal with their little slipup later – when he actually had the mental capacity to process what had happened and how he felt about it.

See, Eddie knew he was older than Buck (some would say more mature – including Eddie), though five years wasn’t a significant difference. They’d learned quickly to intensely avoid talking about significant moments in their childhood, but other than that, age didn’t matter to them. Considering Buck’s last serious relationship... well, Eddie had never put much thought into their slight difference in age.

Until Buck had decided to call him ‘dad’. And then a few thoughts swirled around his mind as they made their way towards the school. He knew that the moment Christopher was out the door, Buck would bring it up – trying to apologize profusely – and Eddie would have to decide how to react to it.

He had a big decision to make.

True to form, Buck waved the kid goodbye and as soon as they’d pulled out of the parking lot, he turned to his boyfriend with nervous panic.

“Eddie, about this morning: I am so sorry.”

His boyfriend looked so genuinely apologetic, he almost felt bad.

“What was that, sonny?” He croaked, leaning his ear closer to the man. “I didn’t hear yo-” Eddie dissolved into laughter before he could even finish his sentence, doubling over the steering wheel in amusement.

Buck joined in a moment later, though decidedly less enthusiastically. “Okay, okay, I get it. I called you old.” He slid his had over Eddie’s, resting on the gearshift. “I am sorry though.”

“It’s fine, Buck.” He smiled at him once they reached the stoplight. “I know I kind of went into ‘dad mode’ this morning. It was a slip of the tongue.”

“I’ll show you a slip of the tongue” Buck muttered – though loud enough for Eddie to hear (as was always his way when he was flirting), prompting a flush to cover his chest even as he rolled his eyes.

“I am driving young man,” he scolded, a twinkle in his eye. “Just wait until I get you home.”

Buck finally relaxed against his seat, never looking away from his adoring boyfriend. “I thought we were going for a run.”

“Oh, I’ll get your heart racing alright.”

What? Eddie loved a little obviously flirting as much as the next man – especially when they were both still in that giddy phase of their relationship after living together for seven months. Besides, it would be an excellent opportunity to show Buck just how young and enthusiastic he still was.

And that should have been the end of it. The two of them would go home for a little mid-morning romp (‘romp, Eddie? Now you’re just begging me to mock you’) before heading out on their run and continuing on in semi-domestic bliss – one of them was bound to propose sooner or later, they just hadn’t decided who. Buck’s little one-off remark would be totally forgotten.

Until Eddie lay in bed a few nights later, and he got a horrible, ridiculous, completely juvenile idea. Buck would be so proud of him.

-

It started out innocently enough.

Buck ran out of toothpaste – he really should have been paying attention more – but he definitely had a spare bottle underneath the sink. Probably. He squatted down to inspect the shared storage space and did, indeed, find a small travel tube of toothpaste.

That didn’t matter, however, because he found something much more interesting.

“Eddie, why is there a box of grey coverup hair dye under the sink?” He had a sneaking suspicion, but he also had no recollection of Eddie mentioning or buying it.

There was his boyfriend – his lovely, oblivious boyfriend – sitting on the couch, reading the latest science fiction novel that Buck had finally convinced him to read, all wide-eyed and curious.

“I have no idea why anyone in this house would need to cover up their grey hairs, Buck.”

Really? So he was just going to pretend as if he didn’t know anything? Fine.

“Is it Christopher’s, then? I knew that kid’s colour wasn’t natural.” He shook his head when he caught sight of the smallest hint of a smile. But then, he paused to watch Eddie refocus on the book in his hands. Maybe he was starting to go a little grey on top; his life hadn’t exactly been stress-free. It could be that he just wasn’t ready to talk about it, though. That was fine. He’d love Eddie if his hair fell out overnight. It would be a huge adjustment, considering how much he liked to run his fingers through those delicious locks, but he’d figure it out. If his boyfriend was feeling insecure about something, there really was only one solution.

Eddie lifted the book when Buck plopped into his lap but didn’t take his eyes off the page, letting him scratch his nails through Eddie’s scalp. He really was so giving; anything Buck wanted to do to him (cuddle, or talk for hours about his latest interest, or just sit in his lap in the middle of the day), Eddie would accept within reason. Just as Buck did the same (holding Eddie in the middle of the night, listening to him rant about one of the PTA moms harassing him, or carrying him across the room when Eddie decided he wanted to cling to him like a koala bear instead of walk his tired-ass to the bedroom). It was a mutual bothering, which worked for both of them.

Which is why Eddie let Buck sit in his lap and massage his scalp for a minute or two before Buck mutter soft and low: “I kind of like the bits of grey, it makes you look distinguished.”

“What bits of grey?” Eddie shot up so fast, Buck nearly toppled off the couch but he caught himself on the back cushion. Just as quickly, Eddie settled back into his place, taking a deep breath. “Oh, right. Yeah. Thanks.” When he blushed, Buck had no choice but to kiss it away. It was mandatory.

-

Buck was ashamed to admit that he didn’t notice it at first. He spent so long memorizing ever feature on Eddie’s face and it took him nearly an hour to realize that something was different. And then when he realized, he couldn’t stop realizing and frankly, it was kind of hot.

He only wore them when they were in the bedroom – likely a little hesitant to admit that he needed them, but Buck liked to think of it as a secret he chose to share with Buck because of how much he trusted him. It was nice.

And did he mention hot?

It took him less than a week to finally break (what? He was only human).

Buck stopped in the doorway, glass of water gripped tightly in his hand lest he drop it at the mere sight of his boyfriend. Eddie never looked up from his book – and why should he? Tonight was just like any other night.

Except this was the fifth night in a row that Buck had walked into their bedroom and found Eddie, shirtless in bed with a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

How was he not supposed to pounce on that?

Pounce wasn’t the right word, exactly, more of a slither. Buck was about as graceful as Bambi on Ice, but when it came to slowly crossing a room to climb on top of his boyfriend, he was Johnny Weir (yes, he knew about figure skating – Bobby’s reveal had prompted a little research spiral).

“Hello.” Eddie smiled in surprise, dropping the book to his chest so his arms were free to stroke up Buck’s arms. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Without losing eye contact, Buck gently tucked the bookmark into the appropriate page and placed the book on the nightstand, out of harm’s way. No matter what, there was a great respect for books in their house (plus, if Buck tossed the thing across the room like he wanted to, Eddie’s mind wouldn’t be focused on the task at hand).

“I think you can help me” he whispered without a hint of suspense. Eddie knew exactly what he wanted.

He reached for the glasses, no doubt thinking they would get in the way, but Buck grabbed his wrist before he could even get close.

“Leave the glasses on.”

Eddie mumbled in surprise but didn’t deny his request, reaching for the lamp as Buck dove in for a kiss.

-

Okay, even if it was a little strange, it was still a really thoughtful gift.

Buck hated admitting when he was in pain. Yes, he’d learned his lesson after the whole ‘pulmonary embolism’ fiasco and was starting to speak up whenever things got too bad (especially with his leg); that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

So, taking Bobby aside to tell him that his leg was cramping so badly, he thought it best to be ‘man behind’ for the rest of the shift, made him nearly cry with frustration. But he did it; and he spent the rest of the shift doing choirs, and icing his leg and generally doing what was best for his overall health.

The problem was, his leg almost always hurt just a little. Yes, he was back to full strength – and fitter than ever, thank you very much – but sometimes, he’d wake up in the middle of the night and need to walk a few laps around the living room before he could settle back into bed. Or, Eddie would catch him limping a little and a tub of Tiger Balm would suspiciously find its way into his work bag.

One day, he came home and found a cane next to the door. It was simple, brown with a curled handle, but it was the perfect height to help him walk around the house. Even if every iota of his being was screaming that using a cane was a sign of weakness, he saw the gift from Eddie as a show of love and concern, and so used it as an aide while he moved around the kitchen, waiting for Eddie to come home with Christopher.

That little boy was the most adorable mix of excited and concerned when he walked through the door and saw what Buck was doing.

“You remember when my leg got hurt? Well sometimes, it hurts again and it’s hard to move around without a little help. My cane is not nearly as cool as your crutches, though; it doesn’t even have an arm holder.”

The discussion had been a little longer, but the explanation seemed to satisfy him enough to drop the subject while he started on his homework.

Eddie had been suspiciously silent. Not suspicious, per se, but he hadn’t looked Buck in the eye through his entire interaction with Christopher.

As soon as the boy was seated at the dinner table, Buck pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

“Thank you” he pressed into his mouth again, gratefully. “I didn’t realize I needed this until you gave it to me. I appreciate you taking care of me.”

Eddie still hadn’t said a word, his eyes darting to the cane every few seconds as if deciding whether or not it actually existed. When he spoke, his voice was far away.

“I didn’t” he cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”

Satisfied, Buck turned away in time to hear Eddie mutter “unbelievable” under his breath.

-

“Eddie, and I don’t want to offend you, but” Buck carefully entered the bedroom at the end of their nighttime routine. “Are your teeth real?”

Eddie should have looked more offended (Eddie, with his sexy librarian glasses and no shirt because ‘it’s too damn hot for clothing’) but instead, he tried to brush it off.

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Because I found denture cream in place of toothpaste.” He held up the small yellow tube as evidence. “Did you misread the label or something?”

Again, Eddie simply shrugged rather than engage in their conversation. “Nope.”

What did that mean? He’d meant to buy denture cream? Buck rolled the bottle in his hands, standing lost in the middle of the room – another thing for which Eddie usually teased him, but still nothing. Something had been going on with him lately. First the hair dye, and then the reading glasses, and now the denture cream…it was like he was preparing for old age or something.

Oh.

Maybe Eddie had taken to heart the little joke Buck had made about him getting old. He hadn’t even called him old, he’d called him ‘dad’ – he was a dad – but then Eddie had followed up with his little ‘old geezer’ routine. Could it be, that Buck had actually hurt his feels or sent him down some spiral? It wouldn’t be the first time (they still had the small collection of Beanie Babies in the hall closet from the time Eddie got drunkenly nostalgic), but this time he wondered if he could do something to help (instead of drunkenly encouraging him to get same-day shipping).

“Eddie” Buck cautiously approached the bed, tube still in hand. “Are you okay?”

The man looked up at him through his glasses as Buck took a seat beside him, staring at him with genuine confusion – not the façade he’d been putting on lately. “I’m fine, Buck” he promised. “What’s up?”

“Did I mess up when I called you ‘dad’ the other day?”

Even when he was taking his glasses off slowly, with concern and love in his eyes, Buck had a hard time not feeling attracted to his boyfriend. The way he cared…it was a lot.

“You didn’t mess up; I thought it as funny. What’s this about?”

Reluctantly, Buck revealed the tube still clutched in his fist as if that would explain everything. The way Eddie threw his head back in laughter, eventually flopping onto his pillow, told him that it must have.

“You ruin all my fun, you know that?”

Well that was…not what he was expecting Eddie to say.

“All I wanted was a little laugh at your expense and you have been nothing but sweet and supportive” he grumbled against the pillow. “It’s been very annoying, you know that?”

Ignoring the bit of hurt that rose in his chest, Buck pulled apart Eddie’s words, trying to decipher some semblance of meaning from them. The more he stared in confusion and horror, the more Eddie seemed to laugh in his face.

Before he could think to pout and beg for an explanation, Eddie reached out to grab his face and pull him down to his level. Buck just barely caught himself on the edge of the bed as Eddie muttered fondly “you are a good man, Evan Buckley, but you can be so…” don’t say dumb, please don’t say dumb “innocent, sometimes.”

It was Buck’s turn to fall forward with the force of his incredulous laughter, trapping Eddie between himself and the bunched up pillows, leaving the tube of denture cream lost to the chaos of their floor. Even as the laughter subsided, Buck rested his chin against his boyfriend’s chest as he spoke.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, arms resting under his head like he had nowhere he’d rather be in that moment. “I thought I was being so clever hiding everything around the house. First the hair dye – I thought it might be a little subtle but you were so nice about reassuring me. And then the reading glasses…” he smirked at the memory of the last time he’d worn them. “That was an unexpected bonus. And then the cane”

“What about the cane?”

His expression softened. “It was meant as a joke but you seemed to really need it so I wasn’t about to take it away from you.”

Buck recoiled but didn’t leave his favourite position, curled on top of his – very perplexing – boyfriend. “You were making fun of me by giving me that cane?” It had never occurred to him that it would be anything more than a well-meaning gift; but Eddie had been mocking him? That didn’t make any sense.

“No!” Eddie sighed. “The cane was for me.”

He was up and straddling Eddie’s knees before he’d even finished his sentence, carefully inspecting every inch of the man he loved for signs of trauma. “What? Why? What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“See, this is what I mean; you’re so nice, I can’t pull a prank on you” Eddie exclaimed, rising to his elbows.

Wait, what?

Buck slowly turned to meet Eddie’s eyes – playful and patient. “A prank?”

“A prank” he confirmed with a smile.

“What was the prank?”

Eddie snorted, eyes falling to the floor. “Grey hair remover, reading glasses, a cane, and denture cream – plus I got, like, four other things.”

He left Buck to connect the dots, which produced a groan from the man, falling back over top. “You weren’t mad about me calling you old, you were being a dick about it” he concluded.

“Not a dick” Eddie protested, “a well-crafted prank that apparently flew over your head.”

“Well what now? Do you want the cane back?” He’d been an idiot, just picking up the thing and assuming it was for him. It seemed like something Eddie would do – and maybe he would have if his mind weren’t on other matters – but Buck should have asked. Idiot.

“I meant it: if it helps you, it’s yours to keep. The rest of it, though…” Eddie’s eyes wandered back to the tube on the floor. “I have no idea what to do with it all now that the prank is sufficiently ruined.”

“It’s not my fault that you were too subtle.” Buck squawked when Eddie threw him to his own side of the bed.

Standing, the man looked over his shoulder on his way to the bedroom closet. “Not all of us can be as subtle as ‘Eddie, if someone you were friends with wanted to ask you out, what would you say?’”

Admittedly, not his most sophisticated moment. “It worked, didn’t?” Over a year later and they were happier than ever.

“True.” Eddie retrieved a plastic grocery bag from the back of the closet, returning to sit on the bed. “But that might be more an indictment on my weakness for puppies.”

In response, Buck licked up the side of his jaw, planting a kiss behind his ear as he snuggled in close for show and tell.

“Gross” Eddie half-heartedly batted him away. “Want to see what I had planned next?”

“Yes please.” Buck bounced beside him, surreptitiously peaking over his shoulder to look into the bag. The very first item had him snorting and ducking under Eddie’s shoulder blade.

“Aren’t Medical Alert Buttons, super expensive?”

Eddie showed off the bright red plastic attached to a black string, hanging it off his finger. “Not the discount one from Wal-Mart. It’s not registered or anything – I wouldn’t go that far. Probably.”

Buck caught the object when Eddie tossed it to him, shaking his head. “I probably would have taken it as a joke about how many times I get injured.”

“It can have multiple uses” he conceded, already looking into the bag for the next gift. “We can keep that one if you want.”

“I’ll think about it.” Buck had no intention of using it, but it might be a cute little thing to hang on his jeep mirror as a reminder of the man he loved. He really did love Eddie. Who else would go through all this for a stupid prank and kiss him when he missed the joke? He imagined smiling fondly at the red button on his way to work during those rare shifts they wouldn’t spend together. He tucked it under his pillow for safe keeping.

“This one was kind of a two-fold.”

Buck stared down at the square packaging in his hands. “A deck of cards isn’t exactly an ‘elderly’ thing.”

“But Bridge with my Abuela and her card shark friends is definitely a thing. I was going to drag you out on a Saturday to hang out with friends and make you sit and watch us play.”

He rolled his eyes. “Jokes on you, then, because I love playing Bridge.”

Eddie raised a dubious eyebrow. “Since when?”

“Since my grandmother taught me to play when I was eight.” He didn’t add that the only reason she had time to teach him was because he spent every weeknight at her house from age 6-15 while his parents worked or otherwise went out. The second he got his license, he got out of that routine; but there were still some fond memories attached to Nana’s house. “I would have kicked your ass.”

“Now we may never know.” Eddie grabbed the deck out of his hand and shoved it in the bedside drawer. “The last one would hopefully have been obvious.”

Buck nearly woke Christopher with his laughter – silenced quickly by Eddie throwing a pillow in his face – as he held the bag of adult diapers.

He loved Eddie so damn much, it hurt to breathe (although the wheezing laughter couldn’t have been helping his cause much). Once he was confident enough to remove the pillow, he examined the product with tears in his eyes.

“You got the overnight protection, that’s very astute. I might have eventually clued in that something was wrong.” He tossed the bag back to Eddie who was smiling at him with an odd look of pride. “This is a lot of effort for a one-off comment, Eddie.”

The man shrugged, reaching down to put the denture cream and diapers back into the bag to take to the donation bin later. “I don’t think it was.”

“What was the last one?” he asked, a lightness filling his voice from the sheer giddiness of being together.

In lieu of an answer, Eddie blushed and looked away. “Nothing.��� That definitely meant it was something, Buck decided. There really was only one way to get Eddie to talk when he didn’t want to. Long, calloused fingers found his ribs and danced over his skin, leaving him curled over top of Buck, squirming and laughing. The day he’d discovered that Eddie was ticklish was probably one of the best days of his entire life. It meant he now how a surefire way to get his boyfriend to laugh whenever he wanted. It was a power he used sparingly, but he loved having a switch to turn on his favourite sound at will.

“Alright, stop, stop, I’ll tell you.”

Even as Buck released him, Eddie didn’t move from his place against Buck’s stomach, both breathing heavily and smiling at each other, wide and bright. The air grew still between them as Eddie regained his senses, the grin falling from his face – though his eyes were still warm and loving.

“I booked us a tour” he whispered his confession.

“A tour for where?” As funny as it would have been, they couldn’t exactly try to take advantage of a senior’s discount anywhere.

Eddie licked his lips, his earnest heart pulling the last of the humor away. “At a retirement village.”

The realization came a moment later. “You wanted to look at a retirement home together?” Saying the words out loud felt strange on his tongue. Stringing those syllables together in that order was not a possibility he ever thought to consider for himself.

Suddenly it was all he wanted.

“It was for the prank” Eddie gave a half-hearted shrug, still not releasing his breath entirely. “But I figured we could put our name on the waiting list if we liked it anyways.”

Buck joined him in his breathlessness, unable to think beyond the buzzing in his ears screaming ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ The world around him seemed fuzzy but Eddie’s face was crystal clear in his eyes.

“You’re planning your retirement with me?” Knowing them, that time wouldn’t come for another forty or fifty years, and yet Eddie wanted to put their names on a waiting list together. Like they were a sure thing.

“I did it as a joke” Eddie mumbled his concession, breath warming his skin. Buck watched his muscles dance underneath him, shivering with hope and excitement. “but it felt right to write down Mr. and Mr. Diaz.”

“I love you.” Those were the only words Buck could think to express every emotion in his being. There was too much at once to process and it swirled through his body, igniting every nerve ending on its way down to his toes. His mouth opened of its own accord and completely ran away from him. “I’ll love you when we’re old a grey, and you need all of those things you spent too much money on.” Eddie opened his mouth to protest but he continued. “I’ll love you when we fight – and when we think it’s the end for us, I’ll keep loving you. I want to hold your hand and die peacefully in our sleep in a retirement home we picked out when we were in our thirties. I want all of that, Eddie.”

He hadn’t thought seriously about marriage but the second it left his mouth…Eddie was right.

It just felt right.

The scariest request he’d ever made, didn’t seem so terrifying when he was staring down at the man he wanted to spend his life with, who kissed his stomach and smiled up at him with shining eyes.

“Our appointment is next Sunday.”

It was as close to an acceptance as they could muster in the moment, but the least he could do was pull Eddie up to kiss him properly. Buck released him for just a moment, smiling up at his fiancé to whisper:

“Good prank.”

Before diving in for another kiss.

[char27martin]

An Easier, More Meaningful Approach to Your Writing Resolutions

I’ve never been big on New Year’s Resolutions—not because I don’t believe in trying to make a change or to work toward a goal, but simply because I don’t believe in waiting to flip a calendar page to do it. I’m just as likely to reboot my writing routine in the middle of August (and often do), so that when January comes along I don’t usually hear alarm bells that it’s time to shake things up.

There’s no denying that a fresh start is a time for reflection, though—on the year we’re leaving behind as well as on what might lie ahead. It was during such a reflection period a few years back that I decided maybe I did want to make one particular resolution after all. In fact, I’ve made the same one ever year since.

The approach is simple and open-ended—and regardless of whether you’re into Jan. 1 goal-setting, it might just be the benchmark you need, too.

  A Year of Rejection

My thinking on this changed in 2014—not an easy year for my writing. It started, ironically, on a great note: I signed with an agent and had a novel go out on submission right around the time I gave birth to my daughter in mid-January. Then, Ohio was plunged into a deep freeze meteorologists dubbed “The Polar Vortex,” and while I was snowed in on maternity leave with my 2-year-old climbing the walls around me and my newborn, occasionally my phone would ping with news of the outside world: Specifically, a rejection.

A steady stream of these continued for a few sleep-deprived months, until there were no yesses left to wait for, at which point my agent and I had a strategy phone call in which we agreed I should revise once more before submitting further.

Never mind that this call occurred just as I returned full-time to Writer’s Digest, choked back tears in the daycare parking lot, put our outgrown house on the market, sold it within days, and scrambled to find a new home. Between bank inspections and stacks of cardboard boxes and 3 a.m. feedings, I revised to the limits of my sanity (and my husband’s). Just in time for the move, I shuttled it off for a fresh round of submissions.

While unpacking and settling into life in our new neighborhood, occasionally my phone would ping with news of the outside world: Specifically, more rejection.

Correspondence from my agent grew spotty. I started writing something new, to take my mind off of the submission/revision/rejection cycle. My new house had something I’d never had before: a room just for my writing. The small satisfaction of filling that space fueled me even as the radio silence on my submissions grew louder.

Still, come Thanksgiving, my relatives were asking about my novel with sympathy in their eyes. I couldn’t hide my disappointment. I’d started the year with high hopes, I’d done all that was asked of me even when it was hard, but I’d failed.

And then, I wrote an essay. And I sold it. To the Sunday Style section of The New York Times.

  The Power of One Good Thing

My essay, “An Extra Angel on Top of the Tree,” was holiday themed and thus ran in mid-December. It was also deeply personal, and I can’t say I didn’t have reservations about publishing it—but the warmth of the response thawed my doubts. I closed out the final weeks of the year with my phone pinging with news of the outside world: Specifically, encouragement, gratitude and support.

While my 100,000-word tome had been getting me down for months, it turned out all I needed was an unrelated 1,000 words to get my spirit back on track. In part because it was the end of the year, that’s when I realized the power, in this writing life of long stretches of solitude punctuated by small victories, of doing one thing you’re truly proud of.

That’s not a bad goal, I thought. Not too intimidating, in those non-specific yet still important terms. I should aim for that again.

And I did. Though not directly. The first nine months of 2015, in fact, brought another slog through rejection. Then, my agent and I parted ways. But by the end of the year, I had a new one—thanks to the new manuscript I’d completed and revised. By the time I signed my two-book deal with St. Martin’s Press in December (in case you missed it: a story I shared in the post How I Got My Agent—and Book Deal: Writer’s Digest Editor Edition), my head was spinning with how fast things had turned around—and the realization that I’d managed something else I could feel thoroughly good about.

So now I stand in the wake of 2016—my busiest year ever as I worked alongside my publishing team to get that novel ready for its publication (Almost Missed You is coming March 28, 2017!). But when the ball dropped on Dec. 31, what brought me the greatest sense of achievement was having written another novel, my first under contract, and turned it in before the holidays, two months ahead of schedule.

I haven’t gotten feedback from my editor yet, but (while I really, really hope she likes it!) that doesn’t preclude me from counting that big finish as my One Thing. Because among the benefits of setting a goal to simply do one thing every year that you’re truly proud of with your writing are these:

It’s not necessarily external. It doesn’t have to be (and probably shouldn’t be) contingent on someone else saying yes.

This approach is about perseverance.

You can (and should) work toward this goal while resisting the urge to force or pressure things.

You might just surprise yourself!

  The Only Resolution You Need

None of those years did I set out knowing what my One Thing might be, but this is clearer than ever to me now:

That One Thing a year, if you can manage it, really is all it takes to keep yourself going—even at full throttle.

Yours could be a big byline, or it could be a quiet blog post. It could be a new friendship with a writer you once found intimidating, or it could be typing “The End” on Page 300. It could be courage, or, yes, it could be a contract. Ultimately, it needs only to be meaningful enough to stand apart in your mind, to fill your tank, to rev your engine.

Whatever your One Thing turns out to be, you’ll know it when you see it—or, rather, when you feel it.

Every day is a new chance to get there. And the real beauty of a new year is that it holds 365 of them.

Yours in writing, Jessica Strawser Editorial Director, Writer’s Digest magazine Subscribe today. Your writing will thank you.

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