I spent much of the afternoon reading No Plot? No Problem! and have been inspired to take the plunge into NaNoWriMo. I always thought I’d write for a living, but sometime in my early twenties, I got scared and left it behind. Like I said earlier on G+,
The only way I’m going to be able to make it through NaNoWriMo is to give what I write permission to be bad. More than a decade of writer’s block has stemmed, I think, from my need to “get it right the first time,” and it’s time to leave that behind.
Don’t get me wrong, I hope what I write next month is good, and I’ll do what I can to make it so, but for me, quality is not the point of this exercise. I’m going to flush 50,000 words through my brain to clean out the pipes, to prove to myself that I can put those words on paper. A craftsman has to make some crappy furniture before he can turn out a masterpiece.
Then we will see what December may bring.
So, I’m excited. I’ve started taking notes on the process, and trying to line up some co-writers and cheerleaders. If you’re at all interested in playing along, let me know, and we can nag each other about our word counts next month.
We’ve been completely unpacked and moved in to the apartment for nearly a month now. The books are organized, art is up on the walls, various objets are d’arting on every available flat surface, but I still haven’t settled the stash.
When I started packing around this time last year, I crammed most of the things from my studio into the bins meant to hold my stash. So beyond yarn, those clear boxes are holding books, patterns, notions, tools, office supplies, and probably a wide assortment of things I’ve forgotten about. I thought I was looking forward to pulling it all out and reveling in the bounty, but for the last two weeks it’s been the main thing on my daily agenda, and it keeps getting put off. I can think of several explanations for this phenomenon, none of which make me very happy. So I declare here that I’m fucking doing it tomorrow, my brain can just shut up and let me enjoy something, dammit.
Knitting persists, though I hardly have to tell you that. The Blackberry Cabled Cardigan and the Scandinavian Socks continue their slow selves; to relieve the pressure, I throw in a hexapuff every now and then.
I ordered another Phat Fiber box to supplement the hex-yarn; the bugger took nearly a month to get to me (I’d forgotten to change our PayPal address when we left Missouri and it somehow got forwarded to my mom, who then sent it to our first apartment in the ghetto). It was lighter on the swag than the two boxes I had before, but supplemented my hex-stash nicely.
I skeined up some leftovers from my own stash to trade, in order to get a wider variety of yarns, and they’ve been mostly snatched up already.
I still have a few of “C” left, if you’re looking to swap!
Today I heard from a friend I’ve been worrying about a lot. Things seem to be going better for her, though she is (understandably) not loquacious on the subject. It’s hard for me to ask for mojo for a friend without identifying them, but if you have any spare, send it to me and I’ll send it to her.