Getting Geared up for NaNoWriMo #octoprep


brown book page

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So here I am, long aware that stencilled in my diary amidst work commitments and social promises is the NaNoWriMo start date of November 1st 2018

Earlier, flicking lazily through Instagram, I realise there is now a newly added diary entry of Octoberprep! Mmmm, methinks this did not exist and is also a rather naughty pre addition to what is supposed to be a full 30 days of writing to reach a set amount of words by the end of November. To the unintiated National Novel Writing Month in November gives one a kick up the rear end to get our acts in gear and get writing and finishing that novel. While I want to lament that its unfair to prep a novel you should write in only 30 days…I have to confess my copious notes and character visualisations, my endless plotting and structuring, my playing with various beginnings but I hasten to add, not endings – is surely of the same ilk?

Yet I began years ago I counter in my defence….ah, therein lies the rub. The long awaited novel gets dusted off but its premises and original plot rejuvenated ready for The Big Write. My aspirations then to sit languorously at a neat desk – or was it neatly at a languorous desk – to bang out, churn out, spurn out, force out, 3000 words a day may in fact materialise after all.

adult book boring face

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The main planning of course needs to be the desperately required endless cups of coffee, and simultaneously someone with endless patience to keep providing them to my hunched. oblivious to reality figure, to fuel and oil my ceaseless thoughts, stroke or should that be stoke? my brain into further creativity.

Publishing my short story in April with 2 more to add to the trilogy plus a small volume of poetry, entering a local competition and attending to my other blogs makes me sound prolific. Sadly untrue. Those were the culmination of thoughts etched into ink long ago and then botched together when it finally hit me I could indeed selfpublish and that my long held notes and ideas did indeed actually have a structure to slot into. A structure that had eluded me for many years, yet once I stopped thinking too hard appeared to me confident in its knowledge it would work.

The novel is a whole other Entity. It breathes of its own accord and haunts me in shadows, beset by memories and indecision, shrouded in mystery and a very opaque ending preceded by a long drawn out journey.

Lets hope it can breathe Life into itself over November.

Good luck to all else involved!

 

Note to self@2.am the following morning ….its actually called Preptober ….oops 🙂

black calendar close up composition

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Social, social, personal, essential.


Realising you have not written a SINGLE syllable since May!

 

I knew I had been AWOL but not THAT long! I can give myself a litany of excuses – work to earn a crust – you know the REAL work you have to do – family – travel – ya di ya di ya….but seriously all I know I have really done is avoid the written word and in the process denied my very Soul again!

close up photography of boy statue

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So many avenues to pursue and so keen to build up my readers – reading tonight on how to improve that I feel I have done almost all the tips to date.  I read avidly on here and follow any that take my breath away or inspire or excite. I realise publishing sporadically is not helping my cause and passion. Oh, to write daily at a neat little desk, within a proscribed time and fulfill the need without Life intervening. But…that is just not ME! This 2am sprint with laptop propped on my duvet and legs akimbo, while relishing the total  uninterrupted silence that only the dead of night can provide – Yep that’s me!

beige and black chair in front of white desk

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While I neglect one blog, I nurture or even create another! While I am obsessed with too many accounts on Insta I leave Twitter sobbing for attention. Dalliances with Pinterest suffice for short bursts and please do not even investigate the myriad of work accounts I NEED to update…Linked In, et al.  Perhaps therein lies my flaw….too many, too scattered, too disparate?

Yet all were born – even the ones still left to germinate and blossom forth – from a long held ambition, nay, a dream – to house all my pandora’s box of ideas and interests in one unit, one space, one building. If not physically and tangibly then why not within the pages of a website/blog from the realms of my chaotic mind. A vestibule of virtuality for each, a window to glance in and share, a compartment for other thoughts. If The Seanachai can never be my cherished coffee spot/bookshop with space for spiritual workshops, education, book signings, tarot, self help, writers and booklovers meetings and travel talks then why not host a virtual rendezvous.

There is so much more to do, to add, to combine. Not least to learn how to emulate the glossy pages and technical naunces of some amazing pages I have visited and coveted only tonight! Mostly to adorn these pages with my many and diverse interests and ideas. A place for me to go, to sojourn and loiter.

Should any of you join me regularly, so much the better.

My virtual coffee shop door will always remain welcoming and ajar….

architecture buildings business car

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ball of wool.


Am I the only one here whose anxiety is envisioned as, depicted as, a ball.?

In my particular case, a ball of wool.

A solid mass of intermingled, knotted, coarse, crude wool.

For many years, tightly bound

At one point beginning to unravel – even more fearful than the tight knot….

Even unravelling at speed once, alarmingly so.

Did it ever really leave me, that ball in my stomach. There since Childhood.

Taken me years and years into Adulthood to realise it was in fact, Anxiety.

It had a name. A capital for a proper noun.

Why didnt they tell me back then? Why didnt we label, categorise and print out our woes … back then.

Is it that they existed less than now?

I thought the ball had gone at one stage….maybe I was truly happy for a while….

Yet then it returned with a vengeance! With a searing emptiness to remind me daily it was missing

That I had wickedly unravelled it and torn it, wrenched it from my gut and now my comfort rock was gone, painful as it felt at times, pressing down on my very inner core.

But this….this utter Emptiness. This hollow ringing Despair. Not even a worthy replacement.

Its mantra – There is nothing left inside of me. There is nothing left inside of me.

Echoing throughout my very person. Singeing the edges of my Soul.

Of late it has changed its form again.

 

It decided, this Entity, to reconvene its gnawing, its inimitable gloopy presence in the pit of my stomach, clawing at my insides at any given, but unexpected moment. No warning, just layer upon layer of uncertain certainty that it will lay down again. Resurface again. Simultaneously.

 

If I imagine removing it by force I know it will just thwart me so I have to let the feeling, the invasion of me, dwell until it decides its time to vacate again.

This unpaying, scrounging, vagrant.

Sucking me dry of energy, motivation and desire.

I want to scoop it out, scrape mercilessly at my innards, free myself from its sticky tendrils wrapping around the walls of my gut.

It resists. Like a mollusc created from transient thought. A growth manifested by Guilt , Shame, Lies, Tragedy, Confusion. All abstracts leading to one concrete, unperishable mass.

Am I then?

Am I the only one?