YaYesWheeStop

There is, alas, a stubborn streak in me. And that stubborn streak -- which we'd lovingly call "SS" except those are my initials (and don't think that's a coincidence) -- absolutely refuses to pursue a professional writing career.

Now, it's a wonder that my brain allows me to type this. I mean, let's face it, I am a professional writer. I have a regular writing gig for which I am paid. I receive regular royalty checks for a book that I refuse to call a book for the same reason I refuse to call myself a professional writer, which is to say that I'm probably trying to avoid raising any expectations.

Hell, once in awhile I even get a little something from Epinions, but only the IRS would classify that as professional writing.

And every six to eighteen months I am very boring and write something about "why I am not a writer and how stupid I am to be so stubborn about not-really-writing when I am and I do." Yawn.

SO. It all puts me in mind of Neil Gaiman and how, even though I can't seem to like anything by him as much as I liked Good Omens, even though his father was a major Scientologist (sorry, those pepys are scary), even though he seems a little strangely stern at times (in a laid-back way), and even though he has never openly embraced the hamster platform, he's very sensible about writing. As in, "write."

AND SO. His blog has reminded me that NaNoWriMo kicks off on Monday.

You know, I can do this. 50k words? Pish-posh -- that's, like... well, it's a whole lot like more than a year's worth of columns, and heaven knows I've had trouble turning in one lately, let alone fifty. But that's a time issue, not a fodder issue. And, really, the biggest flaws in my writing could be mended with more practice and experience. Why the heck don't I just try and see what happens?

AND. Why don't you? If you're reading this, why don't you see what sort of thousand mile journey you can conjure by taking that first step? "Valuing enthusiasm and perseverance over talent and craft, NaNoWriMo is a novel-writing program for everyone who has thought fleetingly about writing a novel but has been scared away by the time and effort involved." See? See?

NNWM says it best: "In 2003, we had about 25,000 participants. Over 3500 of them crossed the 50k finish line by the midnight deadline, entering into the annals of NaNoWriMo superstardom forever. They started the month as auto mechanics, out-of-work actors, and middle school English teachers. They walked away novelists."

Let's just do it.

I'm thinking elvish porn with lacings of John Donne and maybe an enormous talking-knife. (Yes, the recent pro-reading episode of Dead Like Me left me emptying my drool cup more than usual. George actually said "hyphenate." Wow.)

Okay. Let's write 50,000 words with a beginning and a middle and an end. It will be fun. We'll bore our friends and intimidate our enemies.

But, for now, off to watch the eclipse. ("Lathnar Bowstringer strode lightly into the broken clearing where Varmissa Ringwearer waited, her naughty boots of weathered dragonscale as red as the blood-washed eclipse above. 'Batter my heart, ye three-person wench,' he cried, clutching her lithe elf-bosom to his own, unmindful of the talking-knife as it chattered into his back.")