Thursday, November 8, 2012

The Art of Manic Laughter

So… it’s still November. I’m still doing NaNoWriMo. BUT. I haven’t been able to work on writing for five – count them – five days straight. Not good.

This does serve to illustrate one of the reasons why WriMos go slightly insane by the end of the month. It’s called “Real Life.”

This year, we started with Sandy, the superstorm of incredible bad-timingness. Our local schools were closed for almost a week, and one middle school was even turned into a shelter. The weirdest part about this was that I live in Ohio – not exactly ground zero, as far as the storm path was concerned. However, power was restored to everyone in my City only a day or two ago, so the impact was significant.

We spent the first days of November trying to contact our friends in the hardest-hit areas, especially those in New Jersey, Virginia, and New York, and making sure that our local friends and family got whatever assistance they needed. I’m not the most selfless gal around, but even I had a hard time focusing on my own agenda with all that going on. Of course, school closures and horrible weather combined to produce cabin-fevered, cooped-up children. By day three, there was no ADHD medication on this Earth that could have kept Shorty from ricocheting off the walls. It was like he was competing with Sandy to see which of them could knock my house over first.

Things got back to relative normality, and I decided to go out with a friend. I had forgotten that I am Karma’s personal Slinky, however. I have a history with stairs. It’s not a good one. With my customary grace, I tripped up (yes, up) a flight of stairs and smashed the ever-loving hell out of my left leg.

Hello, ice packs and ibuprofen. And today, I had the added indignity of going in to the doctor’s office where A) they weigh you – every girl’s favorite thing; and B) I was sent for x-rays, which were handled by technicians younger, thinner, and more aesthetically pleasing than me. To add insult to injury, they asked me how I managed to hurt myself so badly. I told them I was just naturally graceful.

Did I mention that we had the presidential election on Tuesday? I voted early by mail, but it didn’t help me avoid Election Day distractions. Hellooo, live streaming. Goodbye, productivity. I tried to resist, but Jon Stewart is just too damn funny to be denied.

Tonight was our parent/teacher conference for Shorty. I should send his teacher an apology. Most parents don’t keep the teacher there for an hour and a half. My husband and I together are like a vaudeville team that time forgot. She was very patient, though, bless her.

All these hiccups in the road are behind me now, so my novel should blossom and thrive unimpeded. Right? (It’s okay to lie to me on this one.)

Shorty’s birthday is next week. My teenager’s parent/teacher conferences are Sunday. I have editing jobs lined up in a queue, mocking me with their not-doneness. Thanksgiving weekend looms. And those are just the things that popped into my head. I’m sure I’m missing stuff.

I do not despair, my fellow WriMos. I have done this thing before, and I know that where there is a will and a supply of coffee to rival the inventory of an apocalyptic bunker, anything is possible.

Don’t give up now if you’re struggling – there’s plenty of time!

And if you’re already at 50,000 words, I can only congratulate you and say with absolute sincerity:

Go away. I hate you.

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