Oh hai! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I think we still know each other like lovers do.
Thanks to some purposeful wheedling, I joined the Nanowrimo bandwagon. I’m not sure what will come of this, especially since I’ve played skeptic to the idea of pumping out a novel in a month since the idea was introduced. I know it can be done, but should it be done by me? (Can it?) I’ve always admired people who crank out pages like their lives depend on voiding blank space. Me, I revel in digressions. I enjoy doing “research” on Wikipedia and Netflix. Distractions are a part of progress, I think. I remember reading Stephen King’s On Writing back when I was MFA n00b, the only book on craft I read during my time there that didn’t sound pretentious and mean. (I’m looking at you, NG.) He mentioned something to the effect of writing with the door open. The idea of tethering yourself to the page with a little leeway. I like it.
The trick, I suppose, is to not let that leeway turn into procrastination. If I’m honest with myself, I’ll admit that I’m already there. Procrastination and I dance daily and we dance hard. The words are moving slow, if at all. I’ve spent a lot of time “editing”. I’ve allowed myself to be ruled by setbacks, and graduations, and unemployment, and thesis advisors. But I don’t like how the wine tastes bitter at the bottom. I’m better than this.
I’m hoping that Nanowrimo will force my hand. Bold moves or bust. A summer ago, I wrote that first chapter. Under a clear night, with my cinderblock walls for company, 15 pages appeared from the fire. I promptly left it alone for the four months that followed it, but that’s semantics.
Today, I need 701 words. Be not afraid of flame.