Hello my people, I have missed you! I’m sure that you are waiting to hear of our new adventures, and I will oblige shortly. But first I would document my November. Please feel free to wait for my next post instead of indulging my bit of selfishness here…
It has been a month of what was a very stringent set of rules regarding my ability to access the world outside of my little corner down here in South America. The rules went a little like this:
1. R is to have no access to the Internet, unless directly relating to this year’s writing for NaNoWriMo. No more wasting time, use what little you have while traveling to write.
2. R is NOT going to read anything other than this novel she is writing. Really, R. Nothing else. You can do it!
3. H will assist in this endeavor by writing the blog posts for the friends/family, and R will edit them as necessary.
And yes, I am aware that I have broken the rules, often, and with little to no remorse. I have accessed the Internet; wasted bits my life with the Facebook; sent and responded to a few messages; read a blog or two; looked at photos; contacted couch surfers, tried to track a (still) missing passport; used Skype, Tango, and FaceTime simultaneously; searched the Northern California Digital Library for hours (this was the one I was the MOST guilty of… Damn reading addiction), and read two other people’s published novels. Which, to the untrained eye, may make it appear that I in fact failed at following the very simple rules I laid out for myself at the beginning of the month, and which H then attempted to assist me in enforcing.
Well, maybe I did. In fact, I definitely did. But H, bless her good-natured, optimistic soul, held up the third rule for me, always believing that on some level I had the ability to gather my addled mind together and painstakingly bleed out 50,000 words of my novel. She was mistaken, this year. Turns out, neither of us were properly prepared for the completely incapable airhead I become when my mind is elsewhere, like stuck in the world of my novel.
The month started out well-intentioned enough; writing every day, traveling, various conversations with myself spoken aloud (yes, both sides. I am a very passionate debater at times and could really get myself worked up… In public), H keeping track and minding that we remained fed (and sometimes getting on my case about sleeping as well), and sprinkled in with sporadic conversations with new acquaintances. It wasn’t the ideal situation for traveling or writing, but it was do-able, as long as H was present to explain away my eccentricities and I was willing to accept a vastly fluctuating word count per day, depending on how much time I could find to shut down and just write on my iPad or in my little green spiral notepad. No big deal.
I made it through the cold of Villa de Leyva and the epically tiring hikes of Barichara, still writing and actually able to be aware of my surroundings during my non-writing periods. We camped, watched awesome people we met learn to fly solo, and tried to organize our lives in Bucaramanga and I was still writing, just not so much aware of time, people, or places around me. And then we went hiking in El Cocuy, where my dislocated brain accidentally forgot what we were planning to do when I packed a few hours before we left in the middle of the night. So we went to camp at 4,000 meters elevation and I did not bring my shoes, socks, long sleeve shirt, towel, or gloves… I did have my sleeping bag, liner, and ear-cleaning swabs (I have become paranoid about elevation and my ears since my birthday last year) besides what I was wearing. Awesome.
Normally, I consider myself to be reasonably adept at keeping myself alive. I feed myself fairly regularly, bathe myself occasionally, love to sleep, avoid getting hit by traffic, stay out of dangerous situations and neighborhoods, and most importantly, know that when it is cold I likely will need to wear more than a halter top and flip flops. Good news is I wear socks in my hair and H’s shoes had been stolen, so she was also in slippers and suffering (ok, not good news per-say, but when you’re at elevation, freezing, and slightly miserable, it’s nice to have company). However, this is when I decided to temper back the writing in order to not make possibly fatal mistakes while on the road.
And so no, I have not had the pleasure of being a NaNoWriMo winner yet. Also yes, I still was an air-headed idiot for the rest of the month. Can’t just shut off the imaginary stuff in my head from getting in the way just because I stopped for a few days, unfortunately. I did, however, stumble upon some freakish cold last week that I nursed with lack of sleep from writing until I could really appreciate it as a full blown day spent laying in bed, feeling like death, loosing my mind, and stumbling blind to the bathroom every half hour. I am still feeling short-of-breath, worn down, and coughing chunks of my lungs today, but am so much on the mend it is wonderful. Good stuff.
The best news is, it is December! I am free from my self-inflicted goals and rules. No more self-doubt initiated procrastination (now it can just be old-fashioned laziness!), avoiding opening emails and messages for fear of being tempted to respond (now I can just put them off until later like I usually do), soul-crushing internal monologues about my inability to create something worth reading (now we can simply return to admiring knitting patterns, chocolate, and your wonderful blogs… I have a month to catch up on!), and perhaps most importantly, no more relying on H to do more than her fair share of thinking, planning, writing, and contacting people. Also, hello exciting holiday preparations!
I may one day finish my novel. I am still brain-addled and involved in several discussions with myself as to how to work through some details… But I am taking a break for sure.
29,031 words down this year, only 20,969 to go.
H
G
R:
Rule #2: Don't Die. 