I've never understood how it is that I'm capable of writing every day, but those five year calendars always thwart me.
I buy one and do so well for months on end. Then, like nearly everyone else, I crash against the rocks of boredom. My life becomes too boring to document the quotidienne.
Yet somehow, I can still commit words to the page day after day. Not about my life, of course, but about people I've made up.
Maybe that's where I've gone wrong. Maybe I should be writing a five year calendar as a novel.