The month of doom begins today.
Since writing my previous post about doing NaNoWriMo, I have been looking for ways to get out of it. It is the natural path my body and mind take when presented with a daunting challenge requiring diligence, hard work and time. I’ve realized it is a common thread in my life, in both little and large things. Here are just a few ways in which I defer to average-acheivement:
– Deciding whether a wall needs two coats of paint or just one. Hell, deciding whether I need to paint an entire room or just part of it. Case in point, my hallway.
The gray is supposed to continue into the hall. My intentions were to do that… about 4 months ago. It is conveniently sufficient as it is, and will remain so until my wife complains and/or reads this post. Besides, who spends time in a hallway? I’ve intentionally placed nothing there to stall you in your journey. It is a hall of ways, not of standing. Move along or yellow will burn your retinas.
– School. A particular math class had a 4 hour lab worth 10% of my grade. I figured it was a test to see who was sucker enough to actually spend 4 hours a week on only 10% of their grade. Never went to the lab even once. My reward was a C, or in other words, I passed. Mission accomplished, give me my degree.
– “Eating right” and his evil companion “working out” have also been slighted by my penchant for achieving the minimum. You know how everyone complains about that one guy who eats like crap and stays the same? Who, when he finally decides to workout, makes rapid progress? Well, I’m that guy. But rather than take advantage of my genes/youth/being male, I use it to fuel and justify a weekend of jelly donuts and sugar cookies. Seriously, yesterday I took a donut out of my garbage and ate it. Super-motivated-me threw it away and then regular-me wondered if we should taste it first. Regular-me is a tricksy hobbit.
– And now we come to writing. In all my avoiding, this pains me the most. I could tolerate being a flabby, overweight, dropout with no paint on my walls if I had a book to show for it. It’s not for lack of trying, just lack of trying for a long time.
I love to write and I love to create. I love tricky plots, I love fantasy worlds and I love imagining people devouring my book.
On the flipside, I hate sitting down to write. I hate being stuck on a scene. I hate thinking my book is going nowhere. I hate staring at a blank screen. I hate that any excuse is a good excuse to not write.
For all of those reasons, I am afraid of the 1,666.6666666 words I have to write today (trust me, I will stop at .6666666 of a word). I think that’s why I am doing it.
I’m hoping that by force barfing unreasonable amounts of words each day, I will lose weight. And while that probably won’t happen, I will lose my filter, my Excuseomatic 5000 will explode in futility, and I will learn to write.
Good luck to me.
And good luck to my friends below, who I am rooting for with selfish ulterior motives that they will root for me.
(let me know if you would like to be removed from my root list. I will potentially be annoying)