Recently, I sent this message on my Twitter account:
“Taking me to Barnes & Noble right now would be dangerous. You’d find me inside the book fort I’d built in YA, announcing I’m never leaving.”
This is how I plan to get ready for NaNoWriMo, quite frankly. I am going to pretend the rest of the world (and any of my problems) do not exist, and cannot affect me, and I shall ensconce myself in my symbolic fort of reading and writing awesomeness.
Yesterday there was a lot of yardwork, before the lawn became completely covered with fallen leaves. I don’t like doing yardwork. But I decided to take out my issues with my novel on the bushes in my front lawn. And I tweeted about that, too:
“Me trimming bushes: Think you’re so clever because you’re so much taller than me, eh? Ha ha, the clippers will defeat you!”
I actually spoke to said plants while attacking them with the shears. (What is wrong with me?)
And is there really a point to this post, other than to freak out about NaNo and hope that somewhere out there in the vacuum of blog-space there are people who can sympathize?
Maybe. Maybe not.