So Much for Quitting

I spent five days - granted, three of them in Milwaukee (or traveling to and from) - not writing a single word for NaNoWriMo. My word count hovered around 17,000 words, and I didn't care all that much. I was tired of the story. I told myself, it was better to just quit now than try to make it up. I told myself, maybe next year.

Last night, though, I sat down and rattled out about 1,000 words before heading to writing group. I wrote another 2,000 later that night. I've done about 1,500 so far today. I guess I'm not quitting. I do feel like I need an intervention, though, I need a chance to babble on and on about my story and where it's at and get some feedback on where it needs to go or what possibilities exists.

Instead, of course, life is saturated with loads of this and that. A book I've been reading here and there, Writing Motherhood, suggests to write a list of all the excuses you have - all the excuses you have on why you don't write or why your writing sucks. (OK, the author uses much more intelligent language, but you get it.)

I think of things to put on my list, and then I'm all, "Hello? I'm not battling genocide. My car runs just fine. I have food." Then I find myself so obnoxious that I go back to folding laundry or fretting over our Thanksgiving plans (which are down to nothing).

Speaking of nothing, though, we have NOTHING next week. No speech, no school, no work, no Mother's Day Out. It might be a great time to potty-train Moose. I will make a couple pumpkin pies and sides. Husband is ordering a Cajun-friend turkey. We will watch TV and get fat and just enjoy every second of it.