I appreciated this list because, like the author, I find that any productivity strategy that works for me does not work forever — the work-avoidance part of my brain is far too clever for that.

So I’ve been reading This Year I Will… by M. J. Ryan, which is about focusing on what you really want to accomplish, narrowing down to ONE goal (that’s the hard part for me), making a plan, and then actually doing it.

That last item is key. A joke the author tells: “Five frogs are sitting on a log. One of them decides to jump off. How many are left? Answer: Five, because deciding is not doing.”

Anyway, I was happily journaling and making lists and narrowing down the choices and such on Saturday, and came up with a pretty specific writing goal (completing two major writing projects this year) AND a fitness goal (getting fit enough to run a mile without stopping and/or gasping for breath like a mackerel in the bottom of a fishing boat).

“I can really do both of those,” I thought. “No problem.” I wrote out the next couple of steps for both of the goals (buying a new pair of sneakers, setting some attainable daily writing goals, etc.), and went off to dinner at a friend’s house.

As I was leaving the house to head home, I stepped out onto the front step. CRUNCH. My ankle turned. On nothing. I hadn’t tripped over anything, just somehow misjudged the depth of the step. The porch was well-lit, I was sober, there wasn’t any reason for me to twist my ankle, but I did, and went down like a sack of potatoes. If a sack of potatoes could scream in agony.

I got home (with help), iced it, elevated it, popped a few ibuprofen tablets, and had plenty of time for contemplation over the next 24 hours.

When overly dramatic things happened seemingly out of nowhere, my grandfather used to say this: “The Lord is trying to tell you something. Don’t be too goddamned stupid to get the message.” I didn’t see this as a Message from Beyond, but given the circumstances, I figured I’d better at least entertain the possibility that there was some message in all this. Especially since by now I’m (nearly) used to the other parts of my brain rebelling when my conscious brain is doing (or about to do) something dumb.

“Okay, okay, I get it!” I finally said. “This year I will be focusing exclusively on my writing goal.” Luckily, I need some physical activity and a reasonable diet to keep the creative juices flowing — but the health stuff is clearly subordinate to the writing stuff. (Are you listening, hindbrain?)

Ryan, the author of the book, also recommends naming this “The Year of…” So I’m doing “The Year of the Writing Life,” and clearly there are parts of me that are fully committed. Stay tuned.

Productive? Is that my primary goal? I mean, what about “daring” or “dangerous” or “exuberant” or any number of other funky adjectives (I’m a writer, I know adjectives).

And if I’m not churning out 1500 words a day (or 500, or 200, or whatever I’ve predefined as “productive”), am I an unproductive writer? My answer: sometimes. But not always.

In short, the name of the blog has been somewhat at odds with the spirit I’ve been bringing to it. Therefore, in the spirit of truth in labeling, I’m looking around at some other ideas: I’m considering the Unstuck Writer, for instance, or just going with my own name on the blog, which will simplify things.

More soon…