It's National Novel Writing Month. I signed up to NaNoWriMo, the goal being to write the first draft of a 50,000 word novel.
I signed up a couple of weeks ago, confident the universe would push me in a writing direction. I have NEVER had problems with becoming inspired. I've got several ideas in my head and I knew the universe would guide me to one of them.
But it didn't.
I've never had writer's block before. Granted, I haven't made much time for writing in many years and being a working mom of a primary school kid, I haven't beaten myself up much for not making it a priority as I had other things that needed tending to more with the little time I have.
I have made peace with the fact that I am a mediocre writer, at best. I have made peace that the grand stories in my head will mostly never be told and certainly won't be told in a manner that is as awesome as they are in my head. Maybe these stories are just meant to be my own personal daydreams. I'm okay with that.
But I am a bit disappointed that I'm off to a bad start. Beyond the fact that my child is on day 3 of a fever over 101 degrees, the husband is sick and I'm fighting off something in addition to digestive and anxiety issues this past few months, I just feel disenchanted somehow.
Perhaps the challenge was a matter of 'bit off more than I can chew'. I wonder if would have been different if I were a stay at home mom or my daughter was older. I used to write so much when I was younger. My dreams weren't as shackled by having a family AND a job. I was unhappy and pouring my dreams onto paper was very therapeutic. Am I too happy now? Am I making excuses?
All I know is that it is the first of November and I've still got no direction, no hint of where I should be going. I'm worried that my dreams are fading. Maybe the stories don't need to be told after all.