9:24 a.m. - 2003-10-01
Novel Season
Sign up for NaNoWriMo opens today. I was signed up last week, since I'm a returning participant, and now I'm also the municipal liaison. I'm bullying my friends and trying to rustle up numbers for my city.
I'm not sure what it is about this crazy thing that makes it so addicting. I wrote a lengthy post yesterday about why anyone would want to do something so obviously crazy with no "real" payoff, and it made me remember all the excitement and madness of last November. I love sitting in restaurants and cafes with my laptop, writing frantically. I love the fact that I can create this complex characters who, by the end of the month, seem more real to me than most of my friends. I love that there are thousands of other people around the world feeling the exact same way I am. But more than anything, I love feeling like a writer.
I've got a great notebook this year, a moleskine with a snazzy elastic that wraps around it and a folder in the back for stuffing notes into. I've already started outlining - I started in August, when I was struck with inspiration for my novel, and I've been vaguely brainstorming ever since. I've got a list of 100 questions to answer about my characters, and it's getting to the point where I'll be able to answer them, at least about my two main characters.
There's so much other stuff going on at the moment that I'm amazed I'm even thinking about my novel. The house now has a sold sign on it, something that surprises me every time I see it. I hate it. I hate the way it takes over our lawn, hate the way it reminds me that I'm living in a house that isn't really mine any more, hate the implications it holds, hate the fact that we're moving in less than two months. But then, our new house has a sold sign on it too, one that reminds me that it's ours now. My sister tells me that I hated moving the first time, too - I was only 7, and don't remember much of it. But I guess I get pretty attached to houses. At least I'm consistent.
Large quantities of family are descending upon us for an anniversary party for my grandparents this weekend. They've been married 60 years this year, so we're having a big bash. Seeing my grandparents will be nice, although every time I see my grandma her memory is worse, and it's breaking my heart. I miss the grandma she used to be, the one who baked bread with me and listened to me when I was mad at my parents and remembered all the silly little things I told her. I think it would be easier in some ways if that grandma was totally gone. But instead, she fades in and out, sometimes there, sometimes not. It's hard. My aunt and uncle from Newfoundland will also be here, though, and that will be nice. He's my mum's oldest younger brother, and the most like her out of all her siblings. It always amuses me a great deal to watch them bicker like me and my sister do. Nobody makes Mum laugh like he does, and she's been so stressed out lately that I'll be glad to see her with him.
Despite all of this, I'm still fixated on my novel. Hopefully, the obsession lasts long enough to get me to 50 000 words.
It's novel season, baby. Bring it on.
