Gravesend, or How I Intend to Spend the Month of November

I just realized a few days ago that November is just around the corner. November, as in National Novel Writing Month. NaNoWriMo. The time of year where masochistic writers set aside common sense and strive to churn out 50,000 words in 30 days. Sound crazy? Of course it does. Anyone with a lick of sense wouldn't attempt this. Which is precisely why I'm doing it. I attempted it last year, and succeeded. I was a 50,000 word winner with my sad excuse for a novel, Skin Deep, a story about love, tattoos and mental health. It wasn't very well written, but it was certainly fun to create. I was so proud of myself when I was done, and I made a promise to myself that I would do it again in 2006. So now I'm staring down the barrel of November and I need to get cracking. Last year, I did NaNoWriMo for fun and out of curiosity. Could I, who have never managed to type the words "The End," cast aside my self-doubts and actually put together an entire near novel-length story in 30 days? Part of me--well, most of me--didn't think so, but I went for it anyway, figuring I'd enjoy the challenge. Not only did I enjoy it; I succeeded. This year, I go into this more soberly. Everything is different now. The novel I'm writing, it isn't going to be any fun. It's dark and twisted and difficult. I also know what to expect from NaNoWriMo. I know how hard it's going to be to stay focused. And this year, I'm a different person. My mother is very ill and it's turned me into a bitter, God-hating, hopeless wretch. If I've ever looked on the bright side, if I ever believed in happy endings, I don't anymore. I'm tired of answering people's questions and listening to their trite best wishes and promises of prayers. It's all bullshit and I don't want to hear it. I've retreated from the company of others, and NaNoWriMo is a perfect opportunity for me to hide.

LxL