The premise is that you commit to write a novel in November of at least 50,000 words. You don’t win any prizes (except a finished work), it doesn’t cost money. But there is online and real-life support, as well as the notion that committing to do something ambitious like that means that you’re more likely to do it. It’s a lot easier to decide to do it and go for it than to get around to it when you have time. You will never have time.
Anyway, I’m contemplating doing it.
I’ve started novels before, but stalled out at various points.
I’ve had ideas for novels (novel ideas, I might say), but never started writing them.
I am very good at laying on the self-guilt about taking time to write, which I love to do, because it interferes with my actual job–you know, taking care of the kids and the house and the husband and the dog and the cats.
So, taking it on is very appealing to me.
That said, my hesitations lie in the following:
I have an actual job–you know, taking care of the kids and the house and the husband and the dog and the cats.
Specifically, my two year old isn’t going to appreciate my taking any time away from him.
My dog still needs to learn to walk on a leash (she is horrible at it).
I still need to make all these meals for my kids, and shepherd them to all of their activities.
Kullervo would certainly be the most forgiving of the lot of them, aside from maybe the cats, one of whom has been missing for almost a month, while the other would like the extra time to sit in my lap.
On top of that, we have a baby coming in January. And SO. MUCH. to do beforehand. I still haven’t finished unpacking. I have bags upon bags of baby clothes to go through. The desk is a disaster.
The Harry Potter closet in our basement is filled with yarn and knitting and I can’t find my knitting needles, and as a result, the closet has vomited all its insides all over the basement. The kids’ toys in the basement need to be sorted and purged to make a sweet play space for Hank, who is going to turn two in November and is beginning to want to play with toys as opposed to just hit things with sticks (although that’s fun too).
In fact, the sheer volume of all that has to be done as soon as possible is overwhelming. I need to make a list to get my act together to actually get stuff done. My trouble with my to do list follows one of two paths–when I find a notepad to make a list on, find something to write with to write it down, and sit down to write the list, I forget anything that needs to get done. And, then, when I later think of what I should have written down, I can no longer find the notepad. It feels like an exercise in futility fueled by the forgetfulness of pregnancy brain.
But, ever since I heard about it, I can’t get it out of my mind… I even have an idea for a story to start…