Holy Shit, November’s Over…

I officially bombed my unofficial NaNoWriMo. I had not expected to actually write 50,000 words, but I figured I’d at least get a little momentum. I literally worked on my novel ONE DAY this month. It’s really a good thing that I did not actually participate in National Novel Writing Month. Then my failure would be more than hypothetical.

It doesn’t matter much now, if I think about it… November’s over. However much writing I did not do in the past 30 (let’s just say the month is actually over) days is still left to do in the time coming up. So I’d better get fucking moving. If I don’t keep writing I feel like my head might explode.

I’m extremely unmotivated. Nothing inspires me anymore. I used to have this constant urge to write, but now my stories are like late births, huddled up in their wombs, going “It’s really warm in here. I think I’ll stay in a while longer.” It’s going to be a long labor, I think.

Sorry about that image. For some reason, I just watched What To Expect When You’re Expecting. It wasn’t that bad, actually, although I don’t think you could possibly enjoy it if you’re a man.

I have had a few sparks for flash pieces, my little micros that certain people are always saying are the beginning of a story… they’re the story. If you don’t like it, why are you reading micros? Unfortunately, those sparks are too personal, to fresh, and I don’t have the courage to put them out into the world. Most of the time. (Like, what if someone actually understands what I’m saying, and all hell breaks loose? What am I supposed to do then? Am I supposed to say “Hey, it’s just fiction, calm down“? Yeah, okay. Good luck with that…)

 

Here’s to a better month in December. I am all out of optimism but somehow I can actually still hope. Yeah, I don’t understand it either.

Life is About Doing Stuff, indeed. I am really doing it wrong…

RadVanAdventures.com

Black Friday is here once again.  H and I made our annual Black Friday pilgrimage.

The lines were long and epic

The roads were packed with holiday traffic, and we had to park miles away from the mall.

We scored a great deal on some sunshine (80% off, Woohoo!).  I trampled some people to get a screaming deal on some Fresh Air (it was practically free at $00.00).  We also got a HUGE box of endorphins for all our friends and all the loyal readers of this blog.

It was not all fun.  We had to climb to the 200th floor of the mall for some Sweeping Views.  Then we went screaming down to the lobby, only to hammer back up 160 floors for some Burning Quads.

All things considered, it was a successful Black Friday.  We spent $000.00 and arrived home tired and hungry.

Pretty pictures aside, there is…

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To The One I’m Speaking To

There is always so much I would like to tell you. That, in itself, is the problem. All the words, all the feelings, trying to get out at once choke me into silence. To let one of these things out leaves all the rest inside. And even if I could sort out my mind and explain all this to you, the thought of doing so is paralyzing. Either you’ll be looking past me, not understanding what I’m laying before you, or you’ll be looking right at me, with your eyes burning into me at my most vulnerable. I’m not sure I could handle it either way.

Overloading

I had a very strange experience yesterday. I woke up and felt very odd and different than usual. I thought I must have finally reached emotional overload, because I just felt numb. Not good, or bad, or anything at all. Then, partway through my commute, I started feeling again. “There it is,” I thought to myself. (This, of course, only serves as more evidence of how horrible the T is. Even when it’s not.)

 

I have this thought that some of the things in my past – and present – that I haven’t fully processed are part of why I can hardly write anymore. Blocking reality is blocking creativity. Whether any of these things are actually having an effect on my ability to write or not, I still think it might be time I thought more about them. There are some things I will not go into, either because this is not the right forum for them or because I don’t have enough facts to know what really happened (and I don’t write speculative non-fiction).

When I do delve into some of these things, opening myself up for criticism, pity, or any other negative response to my experiences and thoughts, I hope very much that you don’t think less of me or of my blog when you read them. (Especially the blog. It hasn’t done anything wrong!)

Considering how hard it is for me to really open up to anyone, let alone the entire internet, I doubt this will happen often. I’m talking about it now because it is a departure from my original intentions for this blog, which was only meant to be used as a place to share my creative work and thoughts about writing. At this point, though, this seems like it’s going to be part of my writing process, so you get to read it.

 

I almost hope that you don’t.

Vote!

Tomorrow is election day! Decide who you want to support, make sure you know where you’re supposed to go and, if possible, plan in advance when you can get there. 

 

I also think you should be aware of the ballot measures in your state. You can look them up at the link below, among others…

http://www.ncsl.org/legislatures-elections/elections/ballot-measures-database.aspx

 

I assume everyone who reads this already knows when election day is, so perhaps this is pointless. Can’t hurt, though. 

There Will Never Be Enough Time for This

I have a great idea for a book. I have lots of ideas for books, and I have no books. This is a problem I have.

 

I’m going to unofficially participate in National Novel Writing Month. I’ve never done it, and I don’t really want to this year either, but if I pretend I’m doing it, and use that time to work on the novel I started over a year ago and really want to finish, I might actually get something done. It has to be unofficial because I’ve already started this book, and I’m pretty sure it will be more than 50,000 words. I almost wrote pages there. That is incorrect. It will be well under 50,000 pages.

 

And since I’m not officially NaNoWriMo-ing, I won’t care if I don’t meet the deadline.