I don't do NaNoWriMo.
For those who do not know NaNo, what it is is National Novel Writing Month: write a novel of 50,000 words starting Nov 1, and finishing Nov 30. So many of my writerly friends attempt it, and many even succeed. I am not aware of any of these novels being published, but the point is not to get them published, but, rather, to write.
I am, or was, a writer. Let me emphasis the past tense. I really do not consider myself a writer any more, simply because I do not write. Where once I'd crank out articles, short stories, the beginnings of books, now I can't even muster sufficient words to comprise a blog entry on a regular basis.
Why the literary ennui?
I'll take the tack Don does: too filled with the stuff that clogs my day-to-day living. I permit myself the luxury of holding the back of my hand to my forehead and sigh about how little "me" time I have, and how my brain craves cessation at the end of the work day, rather than stay active trying to populate a fictional world.
So, no NaNo for gekko. Not never, no. But not now.
Never did it before this year. Doing it this year *because* I wasn't taking "me time."
So glad you're blogging. :-)
Never did it before this year. Doing it this year *because* I wasn't taking "me time." Now I "have to."
So glad you're blogging. :-)
How much did you want to be a writer before? Is this feeling like you're not a writer a very dramatic shift? It would be for me; except sometimes I see "wanting to write" as a deliberate distraction from the important stuff, a self-indulgent me-centered thing I developed as a teenager that just hasn't gone away yet. So I dunno. Indications are I've hit the age where everything gets turned over. :)
Don asks how much I wanted to be a writer before ... the answer is "with so much heart and soul it felt like my calling."
As a child I would write or tell stories. As a cheeky teen, instead of leaving a note asking my mom to remember to pick up this or that from the store next time she went shopping, I'd write a story about a character who desperately needed the item, and the result when he or she did not get that item in time. I wrote (really sucky, tormented, angsty) pomes. I started I don't know how many novels -- most of 'em variations of The Hobbit or Sword of Shannara, sure.
The feeling that I am not now a writer is a fairly dramatic shift, but I accept it. I consider it a temporary thing. There's a lot of it threading in my life now, this aimlessness. I expect my goals and dreams to coalesce and drive me once again, some day.
Well I can certainly relate to that.
Topic shift, when I click on you I get
Fatal error: Smarty error: [in evaluated template line 87]: syntax error: unrecognized tag 'mtrandomline' (Smarty_Compiler.class.php, line 580) in /home/gekko16/public_html/cgi-bin/blogware/php/extlib/smarty/libs/Smarty.class.php on line 1095
then when I just go up to the address bar where your address lies patiently waiting and hit Enter I am allowed in. I don't mind, I just figure you like knowing these things.
What do you mean when you say "click on you"? :: glances suspiciously behind her ::