Today, writing a book felt exhilarating, overwhelming, possible, and im. Watching the word count inch upward felt empowering, frustrating, satisfying, and un. Reviewing thirty pages of completed text felt gratifying, depressing, heartening, and dis. And posting about my progress now feels rewarding, presumptuous, so very normal, and so very ab.
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NaNoWriMo – Day 6
Good grief, writing a book is hard. I’m still on track, but I’m not going to tell you how many hours I’ve put into these first 10,000 words. Really, it’s embarrassing. I’m less than a week in, and life is already starting to feel frayed at the seams. The dishes are still getting done (thank you, Dan!), but this project has a gravitational pull big enough to leave formerly important areas of everyday life dusty and desolate. I’m not used to one thing taking so much priority. Plus, my brain is getting sore.
However, I’ve learned a few valuable things so far from this process:
- Just because life feels over doesn’t make it so.
- Pre-dawn morning is my best writing time. (Curses.)
- One should never eat olives while researching insects.
You’re welcome for that last one. Now I’m off to take a hard-earned coma…
Who needs an MBA?
How to run a successful business at the open market:
- If your customer wants to know if the black boots are waterproof, say, “Are you kidding me? They’re made for water!”
- If your customer is waffling over an €8 scarf, say, “I’ll give that to you for €7. Wait, did I say €7? I meant €6. You know what, we’ll just go ahead and make it 5 for €29.”
- If your customer can’t find a belt in the right size, offer to punch some extra holes in one, “as a gift.”
- If your customers seem to be enjoying the free cheese samples, start cutting a wedge for them to buy. If they try to protest, say, “Oh, I’m sorry; you wanted more than this?”
- Put a cage of baby animals at the front of your stall—kittens, chipmunks, turtles, they’re all guaranteed to draw a crowd.
How not to run a successful business at the open market:
- Talk loudly and importantly on your cell phone. If a customer asks you a question, roll your eyes and huff dramatically before you answer, then return to your conversation.
- Walk around with your merchandise in a plastic bag and try to sell it to customers of a rival shop. If they decline, start asking invasive personal questions. If they mention the police, run away.
- Sell felted, fringed Peruvian panchos. No one wants to buy felted, fringed Peruvian panchos.
- Stare morosely at your merchandise, your customers, and the world at large that just doesn’t understand what it’s like to be you. Earphones are a nice touch as well, particularly if they’re blasting emo.
- Hang a garment that is any combination of tube top, leotard, thong, and adult onesie at the front of your stall and watch the business melt away.
NaNoWriMo – Day 3
I got up this morning as the tips of the sky were turning to tangerine. It’s not easy for me, this early to rise business, but creativity is a heady incentive, and I always value the extra hours of writing time. Except, that is, when they can’t be used for writing.
Dan had an early work meeting this morning, so it was up to me to get the girls to school, preferably on time and intact. That is usually his job, and I had no idea the magnitude of parental responsibility involved. While showering, I fielded questions and issued instructions (mostly “Close the door!”). While drying my hair, I mediated arguments and tried to follow preschool jokes. While whisking on some mascara, I wiped noses and bums alike. Cher probably takes less time getting herself ready for the day. And once I was finally presentable, it was the girls’ turn.
There were two complete outfits to be chosen. Eight separate limbs to be wrangled into the appropriate holes. Socks to be removed, turned right side out, and replaced. Shoes to be found. Matching shoes to be found. Uniforms to be rebuttoned. Bags to be packed. Medicine to be administered, hair to be fixed, and faces to be washed. Two energetic little bodies to be bundled into coats and scarves and backpacks and corralled along the walk to school. We made it with five minutes to spare.
While I should theoretically have felt great that I accomplished the morning’s goals (on time? check! intact? check!), I mostly felt like life was over. I had gotten up so ridiculously, agonizingly early only to spend those hard-earned hours on the mundane. I felt like I had missed my shot at productivity for the day. I was frustrated at the girls for needing so much from me, and I was frustrated at myself for not being more efficient. Back home, not even my morning cappuccino warmed in a pool of sunshine helped. I budgeted, wrote lesson plans, and made some important phone calls, but I didn’t have the heart to write.
By the time I picked up the girls from school, I had given up on writing for the day and NaNoWriMo in general. My situation was clearly hopeless, so I brushed it out of my mind and took the girls to the playground. I pushed them on the swings, soaked up their school day stories, and kissed their windblown cheeks. We walked home kicking up fallen leaves and shared gingerbread bears before story time. It was so refreshing to see them as my sweet, vibrant little girls again rather than as competitors for my time.
I have a chronic disability when it comes to cutting myself slack, and I’m glad I was finally able to look it in the face. I had accomplished a lot of good things with my day despite the residual brain fog from Monday’s late night. No, I hadn’t penned another book chapter, but I that didn’t mark me as a failure—just as another one of the millions of mothers who don’t try to write novels in one month. NaNoWriMo could wait a day. I began to breathe more easily and smile more freely, and when Sophie lay down for her nap, I discovered I had a few words in me after all.
NaNoWriMo – Day 2
On one hand, it might not be the most logical decision to invite a houseful of guests over to play games and watch movies late into the night on the first of thirty days in which one is trying to write a book. On the other hand, logic is often overrated. Dan and I agreed going into this that we could sacrifice the housekeeping for a month but not our close friendships, and I’m glad I’m still irresponsible enough to settle Catan some nights when I should be sleeping.
Of course, two coffees, an energy drink, and a French press full of green tea infused with freshly picked mint only got me 500 new words today that may or may not be intelligible. I’ll have to re-read them tomorrow… after I sleep at least fourteen consecutive hours, padlock the game cabinet, and mail the key to Santa Claus.
NaNoWriMo – Day 1
Getting up before dawn this morning was not nearly as agonizing as I anticipated. No husbands were hit nor bad words said when my alarm rang, and the sun was so shocked at my initiative that it decided to hide out for the day and do some serious navel-gazing. (My apologies to everyone in Italy hoping to enjoy the holiday outdoors, especially you, Liz!)
I love beginning stories, and it was almost—dare I say it?—fun getting this crazy project underway. Do I think the fun factor will last? Absolutely not. Novels are generally supposed to have endings, so the last week of November is going to be a kind of personalized creative torture for me. However, I intend to enjoy the buzz of satisfaction as long as it lingers.
And right now? That means not worrying about giving this post a proper endi—
Happy NaNoWeen!
I’m staring down November, but it shows no intention of letting up. It occurs to me that I am procrastinating before the month even begins and that this cannot possibly bode well. I add “Preemptive procrastination” to my list of Reasons Why NaNoWriMo Is Doomed To Failure. Other items on the list include “Motherhood,” “Inability to operate on less than eight hours of sleep (preferably twelve),” and “Being 99.9% certain that I cannot write a book in one month.” I add “Lack of confidence” several times to emphasize the scope of said lack, and I finish the list with a flourish: “Two days left, and I still haven’t decided.”
Each November, I think longingly of all the artsy, motivated writers adjusting their wire-rims and churning out page after page of latte-inspired prose. Every November, I would willingly jump into that world if not for the tethers anchoring me to reality—a child at home, social obligations, medically-induced depression—or so I’ve claimed, at any rate. Now that I actually have mornings to myself, a de-cluttered schedule, and the returned use of my mind, I see the real choke chain around my neck: a paralyzing sense of pessimism.
I simply don’t think I have it in me. I don’t think I’ll be able to play alchemist with the hours I have and turn them into something marketable, something worth letting the dust bunnies procreate for a whole month. I don’t think I’ll be able to sit at my desk on Day 13, look the remaining 30,000 words in the face, and find the courage to keep start writing them. For that matter, I don’t think I’ll be able to whip up 20,000 words during Days 1 through 12. Maybe if I’d already written a book, I’d see this as possible, but from here, it looks like Mt. Everest… and I’m a paraplegic. Without any gear. Mortally allergic to snow.
I add “Paraplegia” to the list, but it doesn’t really matter. No matter how long the list gets, it will never trump my one and only Reason To Go For NaNoWriMo: “Because if I don’t try, I will never live past the what ifs.” It seems I’ve reached a decision after all.
Forget Halloween. The day after is when the real terror starts.
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