To Nano, or Not To Nano

It’s halfway through October, with National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), a.k.a. November, fast approaching.  My blog has grown stagnant; I wrote the last meaningful post more than eight months ago.  I have become increasingly frustrated with my lack of published fiction, which is due in large part to me not submitting much for publication; you can’t win if you don’t play.

I have never written a novel.  The concept of writing 50,000 words as part of a single story frightens and overwhelms me.  I have a lengthy short story that should probably be expanded into a novel, and I have received a lot of encouragement from people who have read it to do just that.  I know several people who have successfully written full novels during NaNoWriMo, and some of them are just as busy as I am, so I really don’t have much of an excuse.

My wife is also considering participating in NaNoWriMo this year.  She has a great idea for her novel, helped along by a writing retreat she attended over the summer.  Today, a co-worker told me he is going to try to write a novel next month.  This is good, because I think it would be easier to stay on track if I’m sharing goals with someone both at home and at work.  I know there is plenty of support and comaraderie in the online community, but it’s not the same as physically being in the presence of someone doing the same thing I am doing.  (This is why the NaNo community has so many writing get-togethers, I think.)

Participating in NaNoWriMo would require some significant changes in my life.  I would need to add significant structure to my day, something that needs to be done anyway.  I would need to power through the inertia that keeps me from writing.  I would need to compartmentalize the project to keep from being overwhelmed (a big challenge for me.)  I think the thing that frightens me the most (and hence, the thing from which I can learn the most) is that I would need to turn off my inner editor and just write.  When I’m writing fiction, I have a tendency to rewrite as I go, rather than letting the words flow and revising them later.  On a tight schedule where I would need to average nearly 1,700 words per day, I would not have the luxury of editing as I go.  In the process, maybe I would learn that 50,000 words is not as daunting as it sounds.

If I’m not careful, I might talk myself into this.

Nuclear Anxiety

As Ahmadinejad pulls his nuclear saber another inch from its scabbard, my Cold War anxieties return.  My dreams become a series of nuclear scenarios.  A nuke hits downtown Denver, the stem of the mushroom expanding to encompass my house.  A failed attack results in an Iranian Saegheh aircraft exploding on 16th street during Christmas season.

None of this is reasonable; if (when?) Iran is ready to use nukes, Denver is not a likely target, and I don’t think there’s any way a Saegheh fighter jet could make it to middle America.

But then, saber-rattling isn’t intended to produce rational results.

CARpe Diem

I hate buying cars.  I like having cars, but I’ve purchased enough of them from dealerships that my blood pressure increases and my heart jumps at the mere thought of dealing with a salesperson, finance director, and their impossible-to-please supervisors.

I’m not exactly an assertive person.  When faced with conflict, I tend to back down, and that’s exactly why I’m bothered by car dealerships.  I know it’s in my nature to allow myself to be manipulated, which fits nicely with their training to control the transaction.

Not this time.  I can always walk off the lot if I’m not happy.

Losing Momentum

I apologize in advance.

I don’t want to say what’s on my mind, because it sounds weak, frail, and childish, so this post will be intentionally vague, a roundabout way of publicly addressing my need to write while acknowledging my need for privacy.

That’s probably maddening to read, and I bet I just lost half of you, less than halfway through the post.

I’m questioning my dream of writing right now, the fiction dream.  The only fiction I’ve published was in my college literary magazine nearly a quarter century ago.

The rub:  I’m still afraid of submitting fiction to editors.

Curses! Foiled Again!

I’m not a prude, but I think a lot of people would be surprised to hear me curse.  For some reason, I come across as socially conservative, especially in regard to colorful words.  I’m certainly not opposed to them; in fact, I think there are times when they are very useful, but there are other times when they are not appropriate.

My viewpoint is not informed by any specific religious dogma.  I simply have respect for the power of curse words, and I don’t like to dilute that power through overuse.

Unlike just about everyone on reality television, evidently.