Thursday, October 27, 2005
Uh-oh
I can't really explain it, but there's something about the combination of cold air, the scent of Organic Bath Company's Honey Chai lotion, and Jeff Buckley's voice singing "Lover, You Should've Come Over" that makes me more than a little nostalgic for the agony and ecstasy of writing a novel in a month.
"More than a little nostalgic" is an understatement. It makes me want to do it again.
But then I realize that we're T-minus five days from the start date, and by this time last year, I not only had a concrete idea, but also pages upon pages of notes and maps and diagrams about where I wanted my story to go (not that I didn't make most of the middle of it up on the fly anyway...shh, don't tell anyone). This year, I don't even have a presidential debate to bless me with the germ of an idea.
And then it hits me that not having an idea is the least of my problems, because I've got two major deadlines next month that I'm not even close to hitting, not to mention a mountain of freelance work that's about to descend upon me (which may or may not be one of the reasons my boss was so eager to buy me a computer).
So it's quite probable that, by the time the end of November rolls around, I will have written close to 50,000 words anyway. I'm just betting there will be more agony than ecstasy involved this time.
I can't really explain it, but there's something about the combination of cold air, the scent of Organic Bath Company's Honey Chai lotion, and Jeff Buckley's voice singing "Lover, You Should've Come Over" that makes me more than a little nostalgic for the agony and ecstasy of writing a novel in a month.
"More than a little nostalgic" is an understatement. It makes me want to do it again.
But then I realize that we're T-minus five days from the start date, and by this time last year, I not only had a concrete idea, but also pages upon pages of notes and maps and diagrams about where I wanted my story to go (not that I didn't make most of the middle of it up on the fly anyway...shh, don't tell anyone). This year, I don't even have a presidential debate to bless me with the germ of an idea.
And then it hits me that not having an idea is the least of my problems, because I've got two major deadlines next month that I'm not even close to hitting, not to mention a mountain of freelance work that's about to descend upon me (which may or may not be one of the reasons my boss was so eager to buy me a computer).
So it's quite probable that, by the time the end of November rolls around, I will have written close to 50,000 words anyway. I'm just betting there will be more agony than ecstasy involved this time.
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