Sparse blogging on the horizon, or at least I assume that will be the case as I attempt to become a novelist for the month of November.
Here's why this is important: from the time I could string sentences together, I had decided I was going to write a novel. I figured I'd have it finished by the time I turned 13. I reached 13 and generously gave myself an extension to age 20. When I was 20, I was entrenched in college and parenting, which I felt was good for another ten-year extension. Next month I turn 30, which means it's pay-up time. I'm good for it. Procrastination is my thing.
After hooking up with a few NaNo folks this afternoon, I'm all full of enthusiasm and purpose. I think I get it now. It's like singing at full tilt in your car with the stereo cranked. You don't have to know the words. No one cares if you're in tune. The point is just to keep singing. All month. 50,000 words' worth.