It’s almost here. No, not those holiday things folk get so worked up into tizzys over… National Novel Writing Month or how Ari spends November these past.. uh.. oh my, seven years now.
If you want to check it out, http://www.nanowrimo.org will get you there.. it’s 50,000 words in November, with a goal of 1500 words per day. And yeah, I’m doing it again.
So here I am, in my little writing nook, with a bunch of little homey bits of comfort here and there. Yes, my notes and outlines are all ready to go… even a couple of protochapters, if there is such a word. This year is a little different- fewer people and concerns to take my thoughts away from the writing part of life. Also, not writing a Nessa book this year, it’s a completely new concept, new fantasy world that’s been on my mind for a minute now. So yeah, it’s harder, but also easier in a weird way. It’s completely new, with no expectations other than it be an interesting tale.
It’s hard to describe how this feels… anticipation, worry, a little fear, it’s easing into a too hot bath, knowing that it’s going to be your warm comfort spot where you can release all the breaths you didn’t know you were holding. Also new this year- how deeply sad and lonely I’m feeling. It’s dumb- mom never read my books, in fact, she frequently made me insane by pushing me to keep writing beyond the goals (for what reason, I could not tell you). But like it feels so good when you stop banging your head against the wall…. even the overbearing tiger mom talking about something close to my heart was still an acknowledgement of what’s close to my heart.
Instead of thinking about that, I’m taking some time to try and center on WHY I do this. WHY do I give up so much time to telling stories that will never be bestsellers, that are just one more thing at the end of the day?
I’ve led a fairly chaotic life, with, I think, more than its share of anxiety. But you know who I could always count on, even in the darkest of days? Robinton. And Belgarath. Skye O’Malley and Claire Fraser. Conrad Stargard. Phedre. Ayla. Scarlett O’Hara. Elizabeth Bennet. Harry Potter. Lucy Pevensie. Cathy Scarlett. Amergin the Bard. Even Michael Corleone, and Jake Brigance, and all the wildly weird people from Carl Hiaasen’s head. I read about all of these characters over and over again and found solid ground to stand on in my own head. Now I can sit in my little nook here, pick up these books and feel that sense of comfort as though I was walking down the hall barefoot in the dark- I know where this path leads.
Maybe my books won’t be read by the whole world. I think that is okay, so long as it gives anyone that same sense of settling in to hear the story that has brought me so much comfort and balance over the years, then that’s a good enough reason to write them.
Cheers, yall. Happy NaNoWriMoing!
Curiouser and Curiouser 