A Month In Which To Write

NaNoRiMo.  That's National November Writing Month to you greenhorns.  I was a greenhorn several years back when first I heard of it in my little writing group.  One of the ladies there wanted to use the impetus to spur her into completing one of her novels.  (As opposed to a frustrated composer of words like myself, still yearning for that FIRST novel to take shape.)  The deal is to churn out 50,000 words of a completed or partial book on the page, by hand, typewriter, computer, laptop, smart phone -- recently I heard an author interviewed who said she actually wrote a rough draft of a book on her smart phone . . . it might have even been that Fifty Shades of Gray lady -- within the month of November.  I toy with the idea before tossing it out with mass of mental detritus that often builds up in my overtaxed brain; those grand ideas worthy of dreamy contemplation but lacking the proper insertion point onto my personal calendar.

And I didn't log on to Blogger to write this.  Halloween has provided me with pictures and cute little ditties about trick-or-treaters and my Grinchy other half.  I'm eager to share.  But I often drop in on one or two other blogs for inspiration and preparation before writing on my own.  One of those touched upon NaNoRiMo.  Here I am, fighting my droopy eyes and my body's natural inclination toward rest at the end of a physically busy day, unable to fulfill my promise to post three entries a week here, and I want to write a book in a month?  I must be daft.  November is traditionally a jam-packed month.  I mean, it's my birthday month to begin with.  Let's just get THAT out there.  AND I share this month with fellow Earth Diva, Valerie, who happens to share my EXACT birth date.  My sister, Rebekah, and my brother, Gary, were also released from the womb in November.  My sister often says she tried her very best to read the writing on my mother's womb wall, left behind by me for those who would follow.  I've always thought it rather clever.  And worthy of imagining in the vaguest of terms.

November also ushers in the true beginning of the holiday season.  There's cooking and shopping and cleaning and cooking and, um, er, did I say shopping?  My son's wrestling season officially begins.  In my capacity as VP of the booster club, this ensures much volunteering in my immediate future.  This year, my little sister will be joining us; sharing a holiday and allowing us to smother her with love and affection.

Perhaps I'll post what I write.  If I write.  Perhaps not.  I'm so easily distracted by my family and household duties, my obligations to organizations in need of my assistance, exercise, Hankie Mutt and friends, and friends with necessary requests, that I already tend to back-burner my writing.  Even as the words crowd the confines of my brain and clamor for release.  Honestly, I couldn't tell you what's worse: a sinus-pressure headache or a build-up of sentences and paragraphs.  Both are relentless.  Both demand habitation within the entire of my head.  In fact, while watching the CMA Awards show with my Ashley, I bemoaned my tired state, saying I should forget blogging and pursue rest.  "You need to blog.  Go blog, mom.  You'll feel better.  You always do," said she of the daughterly wisdom.  So, I'm here, reading blogs, blogging, falling asleep at the keyboard, jerking up to attention, rolling my eyes back up inside my head, pursing my lips in the highly unattractive concentration expression which brings my family to giggles every time they catch me doing so.  I can go from pretty to ugly in less than three seconds.  It's amazing.  I'm not sure when that happened, but it extends to my sleep.  My jaw goes slack, fully surrendered to gravity, my chin crumbles and seems to sink inward.  How does that old cheer go?  "U-G-L-Y.  You ain't got no alibi!!!"

Boy!  Did I digress.  And my chin is practically down to my knees.  Beyond unsightly.  My pastor will be glad to know that I do have my limits in sharing 'honest' pictures of myself.  He doesn't comprehend my willingness to post fully unflattering pictures of myself in morning hair on Facebook.  My children have uploaded a few shots of me in full pass-out road-travel slumber; I let 'em go on board.  But I will announce right here and now that there is yet enough vanity moving through my veins to keep me from posting one of those awful snooze pictures myself.

All right.  Enough, all ready.  This is ridiculous.  This, this . . . this keyboard cot for my head is not getting the job done.  There's a queen-sized pillow-top with a gently snoring husband awaiting me downstairs.  What's WRONG with this picture?!

No.  Really.  What IS wrong with this picture?

Ghoul night to you . . .