Turning the Wheel: Organizing for Creativity in 2026

I’ve never been one for rigid New Year’s resolutions. You know the ones that you abandon by February. Instead, I prefer a guiding word, or better yet, a small constellation of them, to act as my North Star for the year. A theme gives me room to wander, experiment, and grow without the brittle pressure of a checklist. It’s a suggestion rather than a command; a whisper rather than a productivity guru shouting in my ear. Many thanks to my daughter for the suggestion.

In 2025, my theme was Creativity, Focus, and Productivity. I finished book 3 (𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒚 𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑩𝒂𝒍𝒍) and drafted 1/3 of book 4 (𝑴𝒚 𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒓) of my witchy romance/mystery series (𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒀𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑴𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔.) I also learned a fair bit about using Canva, making videos, and making some delayed house improvements. By any reasonable metric, I’m calling 2025 a success.

This year, I want to build on that momentum with one new ingredient. I’m still committed to creativity and productivity, but I’ve realized something essential: growth at this stage requires organization. Not rigidity. Not perfection. Just systems that support the work instead of slowing it down.

My 2026 theme, then, is Organizing for Creativity and Productivity.

What “Organizing” Means to Me

For me, organization isn’t about color-coded perfection or aesthetic planners. It’s about reducing friction and removing small, avoidable stresses that drain creative energy by replacing them with systems that quietly do their job in the background.

Here’s what that looks like in practice.

• Using my digital calendar to focus I know this about myself: I forget things. Or rather, I remember them at the last possible minute and then spend the day running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
  

  When I was a manager and editor, I ran my life by my calendar—and it worked. The moment a task was assigned, no matter how far in the future, it went straight into my digital calendar with reminder notices attached. If something required advance work, those reminders went in, too. The digital calendar sends me email reminders about each task, because I never forget to check my email. I’m returning to that system in 2026. Blog posts are a perfect example: my calendar already knows when to start writing, create a graphic, and go live (the first and fifteenth of each month). It also works for reminders about boring tasks, such as doctor's appointments or setting up bill payments on the final Friday of the month. Let the calendar remember things, so I don’t have to.
  

• Using a paper calendar for a long-range view As much as I love a digital calendar, I also need a physical one within arm’s reach. A paper calendar gives me a month-by-month (and sometimes year-ahead) snapshot of my life—markets already booked, deadlines looming, busy seasons approaching. Think of it as redundancy rather than overkill. One system catches what the other misses, and together they keep surprises to a minimum.

• Assigning specific times and days to specific tasks Another organizational shift I’m leaning into is time allocation. Certain tasks belong to certain days or parts of the day—and once they’re scheduled, I don’t have to negotiate with myself about them.
  

  Some of this is gloriously mundane, like reminders to pay monthly bills on the 30th. Others are more strategic. One of my big focuses this year will be designating specific days for social media work, rather than letting it sprawl across every spare moment.

  Structure, I hope, isn’t restrictive. It’s liberating.

But Don't You Have Some Real Goals?

I’m not entirely anti-goal. Quite the opposite. I just prefer to frame goals through a lesson I learned as a Girl Scout leader: aim low; achieve high.

For me, aiming too high has a downside. The moment I fall short of an ambitious goal, I tend to give myself a mental pass and quit altogether. I’ve learned this the hard way.

Take reading. When I realized I wasn’t reading as much as I wanted to, my instinct was to set a lofty goal: one book a week. I’m a fast reader, so it sounded reasonable. I didn’t achieve it in 2024. The first time I missed a week, my thinking jumped straight to well, there goes the month, and I didn’t try to recover.

In 2025, I reframed the goal as two books a month, which felt almost laughably modest. The result? The fewest I read in a month was four. The most was nine.

Modest, well-chosen goals invite momentum—and momentum is where the magic happens.

My Modest Goals for 2026

1. Read two books a month. (Don't mess with success!)

2. Read Moby Dick. Somehow, despite being an English major (actually a double major—yes, I know, blasphemy), I never read it, always giving up at the catalog of whales. I even took a class on Melville, because pressure absolutely motivates me. Unfortunately, the professor focused on Melville's shorter works that semester. Hello, Bartleby the Scrivener and Billy Budd. I’m not getting any younger, so if I’m going to read Moby-Dick, 2026 is the year.

3. Cook more, and eat out for socializing. Less default takeout, more intentional meals.

4. Chair yoga to start the day. Gentle, doable, and infinitely better than launching straight into email.

5. Less doom scrolling. Or, to be precise: less time wasted convincing myself that scrolling counts as “unwinding or ramping up.” And seriously, I know enough about Meghan Markle's shenanigans.

As this new turn of the Wheel begins, what intention will you set that might quietly build momentum all year long?