NaNoWriMo begins in a couple of weeks and all my good intentions of practicing writing every day have come to nought.
Some thoughts that are in my mind at present:
Why does the time go so quickly as I’ve got older? It really races by and I get quite muddled as to what day it is.
Why is it now a risk to ride my bike? I wobble around all over the shop and then get scared I’m going to fall off. This is not helped by knowing that if I do fall off I’m likely to break a bone or two due to osteoporosis.
I realise that nothing is certain; I am only as old as the breath I am taking so the thought about riding my bike is fairly useless.
Is the cold weather really colder and the hot weather really hotter or is my thermostat giving up the spoek?
How come the only doco I can watch on TV (without falling asleep) is Time Team?
If I have time to sit and fiddle around on Facebook, how come I don’t have time to polish my shoes?
Is it a good idea to take my grand daughters to England in a couple of years for my aunt’s 100th Birthday? I’d like the girls to have a sense of their history and this may be a good opportunity. I have no doubt that my aunt (my grand daughters great, great aunt) will make her century. She is a very determined woman.
Why does half a cup of lemon juice improve the taste of red lentil soup?
If blogger.com offers me various fonts, why won’t the one I choose apply? I was interested to read the text of Steve Jobs commencement address at Stanford University (June 12, 2005). Apple have always had a brilliant selection of fonts and now I know why. If you are interested, you can read about it if you follow the link. I’ve always had Macs and only one dud in all the years. The dud machine is still sitting on the floor of my study (the screen displayed vertical lines that eventually took over the whole screen and crashed the whole thing).
Why does the LBD insist on eating cat poo, goanna poo and/or ibis poo at every opportunity and why does it cost an arm & a leg to get her guts sorted out at the vet. She must be almost immune to the medicine by now – and she’s learned to spit it out all over me. Look at her, butter wouldn’t melt …
OK, so what is my 50,000-words book about? I have plans but am still not sure if the plans equal a plot and if they do, has it got legs. Maybe I’ll just have to wing it on what little I do have. Last year I already had a story in my head, one that I had been wanting to write for years and years. In the event I didn’t manage to finish in the allotted time although I got up to approx. 38,000 words. That novel is now languishing in my computer somewhere.
50,000 words in 30 days – that means 1,666 words every day. November is the last month that I can work comfortably in the garden. The weather isn’t too hot and the flies and mosquitos are starting but are not too horrendous. This is my conflict and I have a feeling that the garden will come out the winner – unless the flies and mozzies intervene! Writing at night is not an option for me. Early evening maybe but not burning the midnight oil.
If I can possibly bring myself to write in this blog each day until the end of October I’ll feel far more confident about finishing the November novel. At least I know nobody has to read this so if it is as boring as batshit, so be it.