One more day. One day more. Twenty-six hours from now, and I will be wide awake, panicking at the first quarter of an hour of November 2013. That quarter of an hour will determine the fate of my novel, my story, my soon-to-be bestseller, my brainchild, my life.

*cue dramatic music*

Yeah, or not.

Most likely, I will just fall asleep.

The story will write itself, one way or another. I am a writer; I write. This doesn’t mean that I’ll actually become the next Jane Austen; it doesn’t mean that anyone will ever read anything I ever write; it doesn’t even mean that I will ever finish a single writing project. All it means is that I put words one by one down on paper or type them out; these words mean to me some thought or emotion or problem or curiosity. These words express, consider, question, describe, imitate, contemplate, criticise, and analyse Life as I know it. I write as a matter of course. I write because I must write, because I am meant to write. I write because …



Despite my brilliant frantic current writing project, despite my newest fascination with certain members of my ancestry, despite the alluring possibility of travel and adventure, I will and I must drive all such distractions from my mind, in order to concentrate on this coming Nano.

No more plumbing the depths of my murder mystery; no more searching after that curious character with the magical umbrella who has just moved into my attic (attic? second floor apartment? house next door?); no more delving deep through dictionaries dark to discover delicious delicacies of dialect …

Basil (as you can plainly see) has been quite ignored, poor fellow, for some time; not that being left to his own devices deters him from any possible quirk or fancy, such as rummaging about in the library and pulling books from the shelves and dropping them onto the floor and creating such a mess it’s a wonder I don’t have bookeaters. Bookeaters? Bookmites? Pests, of one sort or another. Rather rodent-y, I suppose, with long snouts and sharp claws and ugly yellow teeth.

Stories shelved, characters subdued, plots untangled and left to dry in the ever-chilling October wind, I take up my nifty Nanoist to nano like the Nanowrimer I was born to be.

Two days.


Three days until Nanowrimo. Three days of security and irresponsibility. Three days of possibility, potential, and procrastination. 

I’m gonna die. 

Not only have I neglected to sufficiently plot the story for this year’s Nanowrimo, I have, in fact, neglected to plot at all. I have a dubious array of vagueish characters, including a reluctant heroine, a not-so-heroic hero, and an abstract concept for villain. The setting is the present (I guess) and the location is small-town America (sort of), but beyond that, I really don’t have a clue.

I have, in fact, a vageuish vague of vagueness. 

Despite the negations and desperate lack, however, I am determined to make this a Nano to remember. No abstractions will suffice, no reluctance will inhibit, no vagueness will define the story of this  November. 

Ladies and gentlemen, prepare your pencils. Let the plotting commence! 


It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it? When we can get it, when we can find it, when we can make it … currently, I am making progress, of some sort, on my pet project of the moment: my murder mystery story. At 46,000 words (and counting!), it doesn’t look like much, but I hope it will be worth it. But the problem is, progress is such an ambiguous thing. How many hours, how much writing frenzy does it take to make a readable story? How many times do I need to change “he said” to “he whispered” to “he leered” before it’s acceptable? How many new characters need to be introduced to make it interesting, exciting, suspenseful? What do I do with the character who seems to have no purpose? Do I scrap her, or develop her? Is cutting progress? Is scribbling progress? What about staring blankly at a blaring-white computer screen? 

That said declared ranted, I am at least enjoying this vague and immeasurable progress. And when project has progressed into product, I hope you will too. 

COMING SOON: What it’s all about! 


It’s coming to a November near you! Yes, near enough to smell, and it smells like burning oak leaves, and hot tea, and frosted windshields, and pumpkin-scented everything, and ball-point pen ink, and brand new journals, and bouquets of sharpened pencils … yes, I’m that excited. I don’t know that I’ve ever been more excited about a NaNo before … I’ve only done it a few years now, but each time it’s been a thrill and a challenge and a marvelous feat and a superpower and a dance. And if you haven’t done it before, DO IT! Sign up, log in, and WRITE!