From two different newsletters this week (one of them James Clear’s), I came across a version of this question: What is the single habit you’ve adopted–good or bad–that has had the biggest impact on your life? For one lady, it was checking her bank balance before leaving the house every morning. For another, it was doom-scrolling social media last thing before bed. One habit helped establish order in a chaotic financial situation, the other…

My “biggest impact” habit would be sitting down at the computer to write new pages immediately after tending to pets in the morning. No social media, no email, no jig saw puzzles, just fire up the computer, open up the work in progress, and go. Once I’ve written a scene or two, then I can let the world intrude, but new pages come first.

Neurology supports making creative work a first-thing-in-the-day priority. For about 90 minutes after rising, our brains are still trailing alpha waves, and we’re switching easily between task-oriented thinking and random mental motion. Associations between distant ideas are more likely in that state, and for many writers, this how we find plot twists, great dialogue, and other fun material.

Psychology supports tending to the creative work first, because the day will intrude–is snorting and pawing right outside the mental door the instant we rise–and if as a writer I yield to lower priorities (the day job, house work, exercise, all of which try to feel urgent all the time), then at days’ end, what mattered to me most–new pages–didn’t happen. If I planned some writing time, but let life (or solitaire) lead me astray, I end my day on a downer.

So my decision, years ago, to put new pages first thing in the day–even if it was a go-to-court day, even if the house was a mess, even if I hadn’t slept all that well–turned out to be a smart move. I am not hopelessly rigid about it. A migraine, a series of sleepless nights, company, and so forth can perturb my schedule, but I still try to get in at least five writing mornings a week.

If I tend to that, the housework, socializing, errands, grocery runs, and so forth don’t feel as if they are robbing time from the activity that makes my lovely little life possible.

And as for bad habits… I bought a scale. Let’s leave it at that.

Do a few critical habits help anchor your day? Are there some honored in the breech? Some aspirational habits? Time to start building the ARC list for Lord Julian’s debut mystery, A Gentleman Fallen on Hard Times!

One of my favorite lunch spots is a little cafe across the Potomac River in a nearby West Virginia college town. The fare is reliably good and the outdoor patio is shaded and lovely. Think blooming flowers, a stream running through a stone-lined channel, and hand-hewn stone walkways and steps. (And a nice dessert menu is always a plus.)

I met an old friend there for a meal earlier this week, and not two minutes after she’d sat down, our waiter, a serious, substantial, bearded young fellow, spilled a glass of water all over the table. Fortunately, the table was one of those iron mesh, heavy items of furniture that will do structural damage if it’s ever hurled from a trebuchet. We got past that, and the fellow came back around to take our orders.

He didn’t immediately grasp what “half-sweet iced tea,” was. He forgot to offer straws. He wrote out on his little pad–word for word–each item we ordered. This guy was determined to bring to the job every iota of focus and dedication he possessed.

I found him delightful. He was trying so hard, and getting the challenges of a demanding and largely thankless job mostly right. (And yes, I tipped accordingly.)

My friend and I enjoyed our meal, solved the problems of the universe, splurged on ice cream for dessert, and generally had a good chin wag. Our waiter stood patiently by the table waiting to settle up, immediately after passing us the check. Right by the table, eyes front, as if he expected to be called upon to recite Browning’s Incident of the French Camp from memory.

Not long before we left, a couple of our waiter’s friends took a table a few yards across the patio from us. How did we divine that these were his friends? Because when he beheld the occupants of that table, he leaped–went spontaneously airborne–from the top of a flight of stone steps to land flat-footed next to their table. A round of manly-man greetings ensued, as well as some obligatory bro-bro about beer, food, and the upcoming weekend.

That leap was gorgeous, not in a balletic sense (rather the opposite), but for the joie de vivre, spontaneity, and sheer glee it conveyed. I wanted to clap, I wanted to tell him to do it again, I wanted to… well, I’m blogging about it, because that one act of unselfconscious saltation was so wonderful to behold. A small thing, maybe, but for that otherwise serious young man to be so exuberantly glad to see his friends and to show it was enormously human.

Have you encountered spontaneous expressions of joy in your travels? Have you ever felt the inclination to express any? I’ll add three commenters to my Lady Violet Pays a Call ARC list (even though the title is already on sale in the web store).

I did not get much done this week.  Hats off to anybody who did.

I rode my horse a couple times (slowly). I finished a draft of a Christmas novella, and I impressed my cats with my profound (and imaginary) wisdom as a constitutional scholar, and with my facility for fricative foul language (and alliteration).

Other than that… low rpms. And I realize that part of what took so much wind from my sails is that I have not bounced back from the pandemic, still, yet, some more. Skills I took for granted a few years ago faded during The Big Stay Home. One of those skills is ignoring the news, and just getting on with the next task. Oh, well.

I also once upon a time excelled at road-tripping. I’ve probably crossed the USA twenty times, and driven all the major east-west routes. Now, I’m out of the habit of driving long distances. To compound my new-found timidity, my previous road trips were mostly made in a nice, big (gas guzzling) Tundra pickup.

I loved my Tundra. I felt SAFE in my Tundra, and I had great visibility in my Tundra. Who needs sat-nav when you have a Tundra? Nah me!

Road-tripping in my twelve-year old Prius is admittedly a different experience than it was in the dear old (now morally untenable) Tundra. But more than that, I’m simply out of practice dealing with four-lane traffic, high speed merges, and unfamiliar terrain. My road warrior skills, which were formidable, have atrophied.

I want those skills back. I derived too much benefit from cross-country romps to allow that activity to slip from my list of recreations. I learned history, I developed story ideas, I enjoyed the scenery. I got a real break from the routine without getting into an airplane.

So this week, I took a little step toward rebuilding my long haul skills. I drove over to suburban Philly to see some family visiting in that area. I did this drive in baby steps. By that I mean, I stuck to scenic byways, better known as paved farm lanes. I did a carefully constructed (using paper maps, thank you very much) lily-pad route, county by county, that avoided I-95, and I drove only in daylight.

I made three wrong turns, but recovering from wrong turns is one of the skills a road warrior must have, especially if she thinks sat-nav is for sissies (or people who can stand that thing yammering at them while they are trying to drive).

And from this baby step, I take consolation. If I can manage to putter for hours along a cow path and only make a few wrong turns, then some fine day I might once again go barreling across Western Kansas with the Duke of My Next Story riding beside me. That is a cheering thought.

Have you ever had to reclaim a lapsed skill? How did you go about it? Are there any you’d like to brush up now?

I have spent the past week at the Romance Writers of America annual conference, which is like no other gathering I’ve experienced. Complete strangers hug me, and for the most part–at RWA–I’m OK with that. What follows the hug is usually something along the lines of, “I love your books, especially the one about the guy with the dogs, and the Shakespeare lady, and there was a nervous pug…”

Will’s True Wish, The Soldier, Darius… my books have made friends for me, and thus those hugs are not really from strangers.

In the past few years at RWA, the concept of imposter syndrome has popped up in many discussions, and even on the programming. What is it? What to do about it? Is it a uniquely female affliction and if so, why? To quote the Harvard Business Review: “Imposter syndrome can be defined as a collection of feelings of inadequacy that persist despite evident success. ‘Imposters‘ suffer from chronic self-doubt and a sense of intellectual fraudulence that override any feelings of success or external proof of their competence.”

Oddly enough, I have been reading lately about expertise. What is it? Who has it? What does it take to become an expert? Malcolm Gladwell and others have popularized the notion that expertise is not a function of innate talent. Experts are made not born, and generally, they are made by enormous amounts of practice, with 10,000 hours being the figure most often cited.

But I can sit in a practice room and saw away on my violin for 10,000 hours, and still not become very accomplished. To develop expert status, I need two other resources. In addition to assiduous practice, I need knowledgeable, devoted teachers. I can make progress by self-teaching, but those experienced instructors will propel me toward true expertise. The final leg of an expert’s stool is… emotional support.

To achieve the status of master, along the way, we need not only teachers guiding our hard work, but the support of those who have faith in us and our ability. We need a cheering section, or we’re likely to give up, doubt, backslide, and drift away. RWA is one place where authors who mostly toil at their craft in solitude can find both competent instruction and enthusiastic support. Of the two, the enthusiastic support is the more precious.

I suspect that is part of the origin of imposter syndrome: Somebody has worked very hard, for a very long time, while receiving good instruction. They lacked support, however, and thus when success arrives, nobody is saying, “I knew you could do it! I’m so proud of you! The great day has finally come and your hard work is getting the appreciation it deserves!”

So maybe it’s not imposter syndrome at all. Maybe it’s “If I wasn’t worth supporting along the way, maybe I don’t deserve success now” syndrome. Perhaps we should call it sabotage syndrome: When somebody working very hard toward a goal must do so without needed support from friends, community, and loved ones, and the success achieved is emotionally sabotaged by those who withheld needed emotional support. Just a theory.

Is there an expert-in-progress you’ve supported? Did you get the support you deserved as you struggled to develop competence? To one commenter, I’ll send a signed ARC of My Own and Only Duke. (And no, Quinn Wentworth does not suffer from imposter syndrome.)

Or happy whatever-holiday-you’re-inclined-to-celebrate this time of year.

We’ll soon see a lot of posts and memes about New Year’s Resolutions, but I tend not to get too focused on those. If a goal is worth setting and pursuing, it’s worth setting and pursuing on March 7, June 23, or October 6, not only January 1.

I do though, tend to get organized in December for the coming year. What do I want to write, when is it reasonable to plan on publishing it? What’s going on with my big, busy website, and is it meeting the needs of the people who visit it? How am I doing for munny and where does that leave long term plans (like that MFA in Scotland)? The money part never quite seems to behave, and life goes on anyway. 

I’m excited about next year, which is a good feeling. In 2015, I spent less time in the courtroom, a direction I want to build on. Twenty-two years of child welfare is a LOT of not-always-happily ever afters. I also collaborated with some authors this past year whose work I really enjoy, and next year I’ll do more of that too (waves to Susanna Ives, Emily Greenwood, and Mary Balogh).

I published two trilogies in 2015–the Sweetest Kisses and the Jaded Gentlemen–and the True Gentlemen will wrap up in February with Will’s True Wish. Time for another Regency series, methinks! The Windham cousins are obliging, but I’m not even done with the first manuscript yet, so don’t look for that series to start until late spring or summer. (And yes, Westhaven, St. Just and Valentine are sticking their oars in, just like they always accuse You Know Who of doing.) 

I’m also very excited about the Scotland With Grace trip coming up in September. I love Scotland, and I delight in connections with my readers and writin’ buddies. To be able to bring those joys together has me counting the days (251). If you’re interesting in joining the group (we’ll be fewer than twenty people, total) please drop me a line and I’ll send you specifics.

So I’m leaving 2015 behind with a lot of satisfaction in jobs happily done, and a lot of hope for a peaceful, busy, gratifying 2016 that mixes both new adventures and familiar joys. I like that!    

What about you? What sort of marks do you give your 2015, and what’s on the calendar for next year–or what would you like to put on the schedule for 2016? 

To one commenter, I’ll send a $100 Amex gift card. Wish I could send one to all of my blogging buddies, but most of you will have to make do with my thanks for your continued interest in these maunderings, and for your many thoughtful comments through the year.