Hello, dreamers. For those awaiting my weekly “Writer’s Desk” post, it’s coming tomorrow. But for now, I want to talk about the Olympics. Specifically, my favorite part of the Olympics to talk about:

The future.

For those who may be new to my world, I adore the Olympics. More than almost anything. More than college football. More than baseball. My hierarchy of love goes family, friends, writing, and the Olympic Games. Since my first experience with the Olympics in 1992 (the last time the summer and winter games came in the same year: summer in Barcelona, winter in Albertville, France), I tell people I’ve lived my life two years at a time. And though I love the Olympics in every form, the winter games have always been my absolute favorite.

Maybe it’s because I was born in winter, and have so many fond memories of snowy days. Maybe it’s because the Olympic Winter Games feature so many unique and exciting sports most Americans don’t see that often. Or the way winter sports athletes tend to enjoy long careers, so you come to recognize names and faces. Whatever the reason, the Winter Games have always captivated me.

As such, I sometimes think of my life in terms of the Winter Olympiad. For those who may be unaware, an Olympiad is actually a demarcation of time: one four-year period. Every time the torch is extinguished, as I watch through the tears, I wonder what my life will be like when the fire is lit again.

I used to do that a lot: wonder what my future would look like. In a year. In four years. A decade. It wasn’t until the tail end of 2024 when I realized how passive that was. I control my future. I get to decide what it will look like. In a year. In four years. A decade.

Since the end of 2024 (the start of the current Olympiad, according to the International Olympic Committee), I’ve grown. I’ve gotten back to being who I was prior to the pandemic. I’ve tried to be more intentional with all my decisions, from family to health, and obviously my writing career. And that has led me to this moment, as one Winter Olympiad ends and another begins. This year, when I will officially become a published author.

The last time I made major changes in my life’s direction came following the last Olympic Winter Games held in Italy: Torino, 2006. Now, twenty years later, I look ahead once more with optimism, but also determination. I’m not just going to hope my life is going well four years from now, when the torch is lit in the French Alps.

I’m going to make it happen.

Over the course of the day, as I’ve gone through my customary end-of-Olympics emotional rollercoaster, I began mapping out a roadmap: the plan for my next Winter Olympiad. People like to ask “Where do you see yourself in five years?” Well, how about four?

In the next four years, I plan to make more strategic decisions. To identify key points where I can grow as a person, and most importantly to develop my writing career. I have a rough outline of waypoints: quarterly and annual goals to keep myself on track. When the games of the XXVI Winter Olympiad begin in Nice, France, I intend to have at least one novel published. To have published at least one short story a year. To have released at least two collections of my short fiction. To have successfully monetized my writing, established it as a true career, and be using it to support myself and my family.

And last but not least, when the next Olympic Winter Games begin I don’t want to just be watching on television; I want to be there. I’ve never been to France. I’ve never been farther than Canada (and I’d like to go back there). And I can’t think of a better reason to go than to finally be a part of this event that has defined so much of my life. That’s brought me tears and joy, and led me to tick off the years of my life four at a time.

Four years is a long time. And I’ve learned, both from writing and the Olympic Winter Games, that waiting can be the hardest part. But it’s a lot easier when you have something to do in the meantime. Something to strive for. A goal. Now, I have mine. When the fire burns again, I will have made it. People will know my name. And I will warm my hands by the light of the Olympic flame, four years from now.

For those of you who’ve been with me from the start of this wild, stop-and-go, weaving writing journey, thanks for hanging with me this far. Even when I stumbled, even when I didn’t believe in myself. For those of you who are new, welcome aboard. Keep reading. Stick around. I’m just getting started. – MK