Doing NaNoWriMo is tapping into deep places for me.

It’s funny because ‘the story’ is coming easily – stages of it, parts of it.

One short story that has puzzled me for a long time is there ready to be incorporated.

Another short story that puzzled me is referenced by passages I’ve written, and needs to be checked out when I find it.

It doesn’t matter if I don’t find it until next month, say – I know it is part of this.

Doing NaNoWriMo has been intensely troubling for me.

I should have known – I have said before that, whatever I write, it is all one story – my own.

I knew I wasn’t a short story writer – if I keep on, I expect I shall find a novel-length endeavour to fit them all in, each and every one – all those hanging around, not going anywhere, not finished.

They only hang around because I haven’t, yet, done the novel-length(s) that surround them.

Having said this, I feel better.

But I find the pace and method of NaNo – the ‘come-on-do-the-first-draft-or-you-won’t-know-which-way-to-turn’ – too much.

Okay – I know there is acknowledgement for ‘pantsers’ – but come on – I don’t want to be known by that name!  I don’t go skidding along by the seat of my pants.

I’m far too genteel for that!

NaNoWriMo. I remember I was due to teach this class.

(I didn’t teach for long – only for half a semester.)

I’d been told that some of the students had shaved heads, and I’d said that shaved heads didn’t worry me.

I was in the room where the class was to take place, and my back and right hip were killing me.

I was hoping my hip wouldn’t give way as I moved.

I will have taken painkillers.

There were two or three tables all pulled together (they already were – I did no pulling about of tables) and I was going to sit behind those when the class came in.

While I still had chance, I lay myself down over those tables, inwardly groaning.

I had no idea how I was going to get through those couple of hours.

I’d got up and had my face straight (no sign of the pain I was in on it) by the time the people came in.

I didn’t want to teach but that was a path I’d felt I had to take.  It was expected of me.

I was 42*.

It seemed imperative that I got a career together at last, before it was too late.


This is the real stuff.

The fiction is a metaphor for the real stuff.


*[Footnote missing.]


NaNoWriMo. I can only go at the pace I can go.

I’m arthritically-inclined, and my shoulders are killing me with all the typing.

I’ve added a short story to the novel-length endeavour – it came to me that it went there – there is another one which I will add when I find it.

I’ve kept the words of the first story – ‘Shed’ – but added notes around it – it might change, or might become something of a lynch-pin in itself.

I can’t be caring about rules for NaNo.

I’m old enough to know to take from NaNo what I want, and decline the race where it is hurting me.

NaNoWriMo. This is a hodge-podge of a put-together.

As is the typescript so far.

I’m having difficulty doing that many words in one day – I’m only through day two, aren’t I?  What’s the date?

Ah – there is still time left today for more if I should think of it.

I’m already seeing that some writing from some of those (many) blog-posts I took down will fit in with this – let’s call it an endeavour – I won’t add any of that until after NaNo, I’m thinking – I don’t want this ‘cheat’ thing hanging over me – I might change those words of the blog-posts when they do go in, or I might not – I always think they won’t change – they are so perfect, after all, you think, but – usually, words change.  You can’t keep them in aspic.

This is what I mean when I say I write in an – instinctive – way – maybe I mean ‘intuitive’ but it seems deeper than that.

I was uncomfortable with the last lot of blog-posts being there – people didn’t seem to be seeing them, but assuming else-wise with them.  One of them in particular . . .

And that was mighty embarrassing for me – to be misheard in that way.

And yet – that was how I was heard – how could I elucidate?

Oh – this darn thing – I’ve lost all the side-bits – the page has gone central.

No time to explain all that now.

I treat this as though it is Word and it is not.

I’m blathering on but I need to.

I said something about ‘literary’ being too posh.

I said (in the NaNo site) that what I was writing was ‘adventure’.

It is not.

I’ll be bringing in these blog-post pieces.

And that – I’d rather call it ‘literary’ than ‘postmodern’ – too many ifs and buts about ‘postmodern’.

If it turns out ‘literary’, I will start confronting my problems with ‘poshness’.  Nothing wrong with being posh.

Well, it’s just another genre, in its own way, isn’t it?

But I ended up in the A class when I was a kid, and it was full of posh kids who didn’t want to play with me – that’s a basic start to this.