Day 1, Nanowrimo & Other Things

I woke up and loitered in bed for an hour or two wondering what time it really was. 33 years and Daylight Savings still fucks with my brain. I knew I had to write something today but I didn’t really have any high hopes on how much I’d get done. I got out of bed, made some breakfast and set up shop. 300 some words later, I felt pretty satisfied and walked away from the computer and crawled back into bed to finish Issue 30 of McSweeney’s. Reading is the key to getting writing done for me. I read something and it seems to plant seeds and I’m drawn to open up and write more. I put on a pot to boil, grind some beans and make some coffee. This novel will be fueled by Girl Talk, coffee and chocolate cake. 2 pages and I’m 1214 words in. I finished a scene and decided to take a break, make my bed so I don’t get back into it and am now contemplating making a loaf of sourdough.

Oh and I sent off a handful of resumes today as well.

I just need to make my way through and do what I can to keep forward momentum in everything I do.

Sorry my blog will be hijaked by writing about the process of writing. It’s not the most exciting stuff in the world but I’d like to be able to take notes on this process and at the end have a comprehensive picture of when the highs and when the lows hit. All I remember of last year’s Nanowrimo was the strong start and the college-like all nighter ending. It’s all a blur. The novel, coupled with a crumbling relationship and the death of David, I seem to have a limited memory of last fall.

I think I’ve been carrying around some sadness since returning from Portland in October. David sadness. It’s been sitting pretty still, close to the surface but not breaking through. I’ve managed to keep it at bay and occupy myself with other things so as not to be consumed by it. I wonder if there is any internal damage happening. I wonder if I go to dia de los muertos if it will come spilling out of me and if I want that to happen or not. The pain feels so personal sometimes and it’s not necessarily something I share. I don’t know if I’m keeping it close to my heart because that is what I want to do or because that is what I’m used to doing.

Last night I pulled my laundry basket out of my closet to remind myself I need to do the chore sometime soon. The removal of the basket left an empty space that I climbed into and shut the sliding door because there is something comforting about hiding in closets. Without any real thought I cried for a little while because it felt safe to do so in there. I miss him and it’s ok to be sad about that.

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