Escape, one month at a time.

Last month it was family in Seattle. Next month it'll be NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. Starting November first, I'll be diving headlong into the sometimes luxurious, sometimes shark-infested waters of my own imagination, desperately fishing for the 1667 or so words that I'll need to type daily in order to meet the 50,000 word mark by the stroke of midnight, November 30th. What if I don't?

Well, most of my adult life thus far has been spent becoming adjusted to disappointment in myself, as I gracefully steer miles around any sort of finish line that I can see. I took the slacker approach to graduating high school, eventually earning my diploma through the local community college not by actually completing the American History course that I needed to cover the tenth of a credit my transcript was lacking, but by handing in one or two papers and then disappearing for the rest of the course. It was too sad for the academic counselor in charge of my case. She had already waived the P.E. requirements so that I wouldn't have to take archery. Months after dropping out of the Adult High School program, I received a diploma in the mail. Congratulations, it said. You slacked your way out of high school at last.

So then I tried some college. Then some jobs, then no jobs, then some more college, then less college and more jobs, and every combination possible. The latest attempt at reaching a goal found me throwing in the towel at the halfway mark, no longer so sure about majoring in Violin Performance while the residing professor deconstructed my bow arm and smirked at the Cello Professor when I skipped the entire Peanut Butter section of a Mozart Concerto during my audition. (As my childhood violin teacher explained song form to me, there is the bread and there is the peanut butter. The bread is the part at the beginning and the end, holding all the chewiness in the middle.) I barely made it into the music program, but then there was a snag in the residency status which I'd mistakenly thought two years in Oregon would have earned me. It would have, had I not attended school the whole time. I couldn't afford to pay out of state tuition for a degree I was no longer sure I wanted. So I got pregnant instead.

While growing a whole little person and ushering her safely (and with style!) into this world, then ensuring her continued survival by keeping her away from knives, broken glass, and Sarah Palin is its own kind of goal, which I meet with varying degrees of success each day, my daughter will never have the sheen of a finished product that I can hold up and say "Look! I wrote a book!" She is an ongoing process and while I can take some credit for her original adorableness and good sense of rhythm, she is her own creation now. But I can say that if I don't write this book, I might have to fill the creative void with another child, to remind me that I can achieve something. I can make something cool out of udon noodle soup and buffalo wings.

You might be asking yourself how you can stop me. How you can help me to reach my latest goal, one of the most unreachable and therefore most likely goals yet - 50,000 words in 30 days. What, does she want more money from me? In this crisis? The answer is a solid no, although I seldom actually refuse money. No, but there are some things you can do to ensure that Edie has a happy few years as an only child.

One, you can bug me about the novel. Ask me how it's going, how many words do I have. I may or may not decide to post excerpts of it here. It may be too embarrassing to share. The idea is not to produce a work of art, but to produce something. Anything. Typing fast is key. Not caring is also key. Telling all my friends and family about the Novel so I have more face to lose, should I decide to drop out and learn accordion instead, is perhaps the keystone.

Two, you can forgive another month of lite-blogging. If I blog, you'll know that I am procrastinating on the Novel, and then you can flog me with words. Flog and blog. Blog Floggers.

Three, I'll need music to write by. Tell me who I should listen to and I'll give it a try, really! I'll make a station on Pandora, but if you send me a mix of your favorite songs to write by, I guaran-frakkin'-tee I'll pop it in the stereo and give it a spin.

Four, and most importantly, you can JOIN ME! There is strength in numbers, even if only on a virtual space such as the internet. If we can't have an actual Noveling date at the cafe, we can at least commiserate online. Anyone can do this, you just have to sign up. And cancel many if not all of your engagements for November.

Fifthly, that's all I can think of for now. See you around!