I will most definitely be participating in Black Friday today. Anyone who knows me even remotely well will read that sentence and wonder about the TRUE identity of the writer of this blog. I am, to the dismay of more than one friend, and with one very notable exception, NOT a shopper. “Let’s go shopping” does not raise my endorphins, but rather raises my blood pressure. The aforementioned notable exception is, of course, a bookstore. I could spend, and have spent, hours in one of those.
And yet I am participating in Black Friday. But the black of my Friday is words on the page. It’s National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) again, that glorious time of year when thousands of crazies across the world purpose to write an entire (50,000 word) novel within the month of November. I’m almost 33,000 words in and hope to knock out at least another 5,000 words today. Hopefully more.
But there’s a problem.
With the intensity of this month comes a strange writing phenomenon… I don’t have time to put off writing, so when I’m not actually at the computer, I’m thinking about the story, deciding plot points and twists, having conversations in my head with and for the characters. I’ve been known to make faces, only to have to admit I was acting out a scene in my head. In other words, I’m living with these guys for a month – more actually, since I did some planning a month or so ahead of time. And now I’m two-thirds of the way through and I hit this strange place where I’m looking at the end and I don’t want to.
I love these guys. I’m slowing down now because I don’t want to see them go. I’ve been immersed in their story in a way unlike any non-NaNoWriMo story I’ve written and I’m already anticipating missing them. Not to mention the fact that the ending I’ve had in my head since I started is intense and will be very difficult to write.
So I’m sitting here, putting this much black print to my Friday, getting my fingers moving in readiness for a big push today, feeling silly for feeling a sad goodbye coming on, looking out my front window at the calmness of the street in front of my house and ever so grateful I’m not out on the not-so-calm streets with the shoppers whose idea of Black Friday has nothing whatsoever to do with story. It’s quiet in here, the ticking of the wall clock and the muffled yips of a dreaming dog the only sounds. Perfect writing weather. Time to go meet my boys on the page.
Okay, another cup of coffee and let’s do this thing.