It's November 10th, and I'm at about 4300 words. I should say that this is somewhat of an unofficial NaNoWriMo attempt for me, as last Sunday I sliced open my left index finger rather than the bagel I was aiming for, and the seven stitches at the tip of it have precluded speedy--or any--typing.
I wasn't sure whether I would do NaNoWriMo this year, but thought: Hey, last year I realized that I couldn't write my book with anyone but a gay man dying of AIDS as my main character. As last year helped with that realization, then why shouldn't this year help me get this story moving.
I have to admit - the story hasn't received the attention it deserved. Part of the reason is abject terror, some of it (much of it) is LIFE. I have a few things in common with my main character (not the dying part), and, well, enough said I suppose.
My stitches come out tomorrow, and for the past two days I've been typing with very little discomfort. So - off to the races, right? Well, no. Part of this LIFE that I mentioned has forced me into a gym, six days a week (though I'm supposed to do seven, and sometimes only manage five), and it's absolutely exhausting. I'm also taking a 21-week grammar class, and have found that it's much more difficult than anticipated, which means that I am spending more time studying than I had planned on.
So why am I doing NaNoWriMo? That very question just now popped into my head. I don't expect to "win" this year. But I do need *something* keeping me focused on this story of mine. I need an explosion of creativity.
My hope is that this will be it.
More later. It's late, and the gym awaits me in the morning. I'm certain that as I close my eyes I can hear it gurgling and splunging, anticipating the many ways it can torment me. It's very creative, as there seems to be a new torment every morning.
Wish me well!