Near the end of October, I stared at the calendar with intent. NaNoWriMo. This year: it’s on. 50,000 words in 30 days. I can do that. A few hurdles glared back at me. My son’s birthday. His SAT test–we home school, and he was under house arrest until the 2nd. Thanksgiving–I know how to make the perfect turkey every time. Presents I’d signed up to make for Christmas.
I can work around this stuff. Just get up a little earlier. Work a little later. I even bought a copy of Scrivener for Windows. It offered some great features that compelled me to retire my Word-Excel combo for writing. Lovely chaps over there. I’ll review their wares another day.
I was ready.
I hadn’t actually signed up at the NaNoWriMo site. That little step was a pure technicality. As Mick Jagger once said, “Time is on my side.” But I’d fired up Scrivener and took it around the track. New ideas bubbled like bingo balls. I tagged each on my personal bulletin board.
Then the weather changed.
The temperature dropped to cool, and the sweet call of autumn enticed me to open all the windows. With each fresh breeze, my lungs drank the scents of churned air. But one sticky window refused to cooperate. It was a sizable window, so I needed leverage to yank it open. I should have gotten a chair. I felt something twinge above my right hip.
Yes, I’ve done it before. Yes, I should know better. Instead of slamming down another chapter, I spent a week on pain killers avoiding a seated position. I suppose I could have written standing. But I also couldn’t exercise. Biking. Jogging. Pumping aluminum. I need it to keep the crankys at bay. But by then, I was in full mope-mode. It’s not a place I commonly visit, but when I do, I generally bring camping gear.
I’m over the worst of it now. I haven’t had any pain meds in days. Does wine count? And there’s still time to crank out some chapters. Never give up. Never surrender.
But I do wonder: why November? Why not February when everyone in this hemisphere is already holed up indoors? Valentines Day doesn’t qualify as a major holiday unless you sell flowers. Maybe it’s the two less days. I suppose I could start my own WriMo, but this one is so well-established.
Then again, for a working writer, every month is a WriMo.
To those of you in the challenge, here’s to kicking butt!
p.s. Photo by W. Mustafeez