I have lost my mind.
It is 39 minutes past midnight on November 1, 2006 and I haven't written one single word of my novel. I'm behind already. What was I thinking??
It was that damn promise. Crept up on me like kudzu on Grandma's nightgown. Don't ask.
As you'll recall I made a silly promise to myself say.....oh....20 years ago that I would have my first novel finished (preferably published) by the time I turned a certain age. In the throes of a wicked midlife crisis and sorely in need of chocolate I refuse to reveal the number that has magically appeared on my driver's license.
OUT OF NOWHERE.
But in exactly 28 days on my big-0 birthday I will either be staring at 49,125 words or an empty promise - novella or not.
And what do I know about novel writing anyway? The three I've written, half-written and almost-written finally climbed out of the bottom of the closet only to take a backseat to my only vice.....
Blogging! Of which I am shamefully addicted. Just ask anybody. I'd rather blog than eat.
that blog and that blog and then this blog back in June I didn't realize how having that blank post page staring at me everyday....Create me, Create me!....would be such a motivator. But it has been and it's taught me to trust the instincts that were flung to the bottom of the closet floor to begin with. So I have. Four months later I've created Mimi Pencil Skirt, a morphing Mimi, Scarlett O'Hara tales, daily dating snippets from you-know-where, started construction on three meme central websites, became a Guest Blogger for Bestest Blog Of All-Time, written Karaoke Blog, authored and launched the Peace Globe project.
Now I know why I joined National Novel Writing Month yesterday.
I need some rest.
Or maybe it's because I want to have an excuse to live like a Bohemian for thirty days and snap at people because I'm plot perturbed.
I can throw a hissy-fit, cultivate epiphanies, scandalize my Freudian tendencies, excommunicate myself, exorcise my diva demons and send my prissy self into exile.
I vow to forget about TaeBo altogether and take up Yoga instead!
Well, maybe not.
So this is what I'm gonna do.
For the next 29 days 23 hours and 21 minutes I'll brood through the house like Edgar Allan searching for his Annabel Lee, drink gallons of French Vanilla coffee, chew on pencil lead and curse just because I blankety-blank want to. (See! I can't even cuss.)
And no, blankety-blank is not one of Bazza's cryptic English analogies - it's a real word. I just wanted to see if I could publish profanity without blushing.
I have a lot of work to do.
5 days and counting!