I am beginning to be a neglectful blogger which is far from my intent. I’ve not even had time to READ my favorite blogs, let alone catch up on posting.
Here’s why. I’ve had a novel or two kicking around my mind for freaking ever. And this year I decided to take the National Novel Writing Month challenge for a spin. It’s now day 7. I have not quite kept up on my word count (I have 3,393 words to make up sometime this weekend Plus the requisite 1,667 a day to make the goal of 50,000 words). I’ve had several friends take t his on successfully, one acquaintance even won the NaNoWriMo challenge so it seemed in the realm of possibility.
What I hadn’t anticipated was fitting it in with all the other writing I’ve been doing lately including my weekly poetry class where we are exploring poetry forms, the every other week blog I’m doing for Portland Revels at www.revelsjubilee.wordpress.com, a newsletter I’m producing on a bi-weekly schedule AND a new volunteer project I’ve picked up which is taking up a bit more time than I initially anticipated. This last one is not writing per se but there’s a fair amount of writing/correspondence happening to get things going. Today I’ve spent mostly glued to my chair, pouring out the story of my novel.
This year I had made a commitment to write more. Implicit in that commitment was a desire to work on getting published. That is still a goal. What I have yet to figure out is the balance of moving between these activities and commitments, not to mention the other things I do for work and fun. I do have a tendency, sometimes, to over commit. (I’m sure some of my friends are laughing at that statement). Sure I could back off on something. But I’m not quite there yet. And my poetry class is about to end.
An excerpt from the novel in progress:
Thoughts crept in like the ticks of the mantle clock. She could hear that too, downstairs, if she let hear ears listen to the background. She imagined now, slipping out of bed and getting dressed. She had a suitcase packed in the back of the closet filled already with duplicate toiletries and underwear. She had a small box of necessities in the garage – the box labeled “Goodwill donations” in case anyone every poked around.
Her mind took her down the stairs, picking up the suitcase, disarming the car alarm. Poised with the key in her dreams, she drifted.