Whoever thought NaNoWriMo should be in November should be strapped to a horse, dragged through the town square on a slab of moldy tangerines, and left battered, bruised, and smelling of rotten fruit out in the countryside. This is a terrible time of year to try to take on any kind of time-consuming projects, for various reasons. In my case, my biggest problem is that I get sick every November. The seasons are changing, and all of the flowers, grasses, trees, and everything else you can think of is puking out its last bit of pollen before dying off for the “winter” (or the California equivalent). Therefore, every November I find myself having to clamber out of my disheveled bed and set upon a glorious quest to find the winds of life. I sell off all of my earthly possessions to a traveling gypsy before dragging my aching bones to the local CVS or Rite Aid, where I then spend all of my acquired pesetas to acquire the magical elixirs and snake oils of DayQuil, Benedryl, and Afrin. I then drag myself back to my bed, and take all of these cheap sorcerers tricks in a vain and pitiful attempt to breathe through my nose once more.
The other reason why November is an awful time to do an event like this is because, well, it’s November. It’s Thanksgiving, and cooking, and traveling, and entertaining family, and Black Friday – which means tears, and riots, and hardship, and pain, and… November just sucks to do anything, okay?!
Anyways, on to the “official” update: The War on Christmas continues to push forward, albeit slowly. I’ve been spending a fair amount of my time on the job hunt, and I’ve made progress – but I’ll touch on that when something becomes more concrete. I’ve also been under a fair amount of duress due to other matters, some pertaining to my lack of employment, some due to matters that I’d love to douse in flesh-eating bacteria and fling haphazardly from a helicopter.
Additionally, I’ve entered a pit of doubt and distaste, where I write a chunk of my story, then go back and nuke it because I hate every word that I scribble down. Yet, despite all of this I continue to hit my word counts – barely – although I know that I will go back and completely decimate all of it with a scythe. Which, by the way, has been the long-term plan all along – I just need to get over this short-term feeling of “this sucks, I suck, and I should just eat Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein page-by-page until I choke on its inky goodness!”
But it’ll be all good. How goes your NaNo?