Writing a book is a real bitch. Unless you’re really good at it, then I guess you might argue with me. Oh, and unless you’re JK Rowling and it doesn’t matter what weird crap you stick between two book covers, people are gonna buy a million copies before the thing even hits the shelves. I guess writing a book would be a lot of fun in those cases.
But I am neither JK Rowling nor am I good at it. Writing a book for me is like taking a cross-country car trip with eight toddlers and no DVD player or Vicodin. It’s tedious, it’s loud, it’s sweaty, and there’s usually a lot of crying.
But since November is just days away, I’m gearing up and steeling myself for NaNoWriMo, or as my husband calls it, “That thing again where you quit cooking?” I’m training like I’m running the Badwater, practicing setting aside time for writing, organizing my thoughts on paper this time (instead of on graham crackers like I did last year…the plant to eat the graham crackers every time I completed a notecracker as a form of motivation didn’t turn out too well because I got hungry and ate all my notes by Day Two), even naming and getting to know my characters. I’m so psyched!
Of course, one of my NaNo traditions is the giant plot poster. It has all kinds of helpful information and charts and graphs and government secrets, but the best part is it’s covered in glitter. I never allow glitter in my house because it’s evil, but once a year the kids get to break out the glue and take my notes into the yard where they sprinkle away like it’s actual magic fairy dust. They like it because they never get to use glitter, and I like it because it gives me something to look at and remember them by when I’m ignoring my entire family for the month.