Failing NaNoWriMo I Will Post Here For 30 Days

I am failing quicker than I am writing. NaNoWriMo inspired me that I could sit down and write. I started November 1st with a plan to knock out a 50,000 word novel.  I am now, on day 19, still at just over 5,000 words. My main character stopped for coffee at the Waffle House and never left. As I sit here and sip my steaming hot cup of java, so does Mallory. She must be on a high now, sixteen days in a row drinking coffee. I think I left her with a plate of waffles, too, if I remember correctly. Since fictional writers say their characters take on a life of their own, perhaps Mallory has done that and ordered more food. Eggs, bacon, and in the evening hours, I hope she had a burger, well done with all the works, to keep her strength up.

It was going to be an romance novel, not steamy hot, but a kind look at a woman trying to rebuild her life. I'd like to think that while I have failed Mallory, the Waffle House has not. Is she sitting at the Formica top table with a handsome cowboy? Yeah, yeah, the old cowboy hook. But she is in Florida and there is horse country around her. Far off, actually. She is by the beach. Cowboys like the beach, too, don't they? Romance at the Waffle House is quite possible. And if you steal that as the title for your next book, I'm coming to find you.

I have a list of reasons why I haven't written more. If only they were exciting reasons. But I am a slug in a void about writing. I don't even want to label it writer's block. It may come down to this, fiction is difficult for me. I like non-fiction, short essays, and with my crazy life with dogs, I like to write about  . . . . me!

 

It isn't that I missed Lesson 94. I haven't gotten there yet. I think I am wallowing more around lesson # 32. And truly, it isn't all about me. But writing about my life and the things around me, help me sort out dealing with life's big issues and perhaps my little missives hit a nerve with someone else, someone who can relate to what I am saying.

My reason for writing in the first place was to learn how to cope with the loss of my husband. A year's essays turned into my memoir The Unfaithful Widow. That book connected me to others who had a loss and I made friends, friends I've never met in person but feel as close to them as if I had.

Non-fiction, no matter how deep or silly it gets when I start hitting the keyboard, is my way of connecting to people. I am a social gal and sharing my thoughts with others when I write is as good as sitting and having a margarita with friends. Except I don't have to wear makeup, can stay in my PJ's and frankly, sad as this is, I can't drink at the moment, still on a few pain meds for my hip.

Aha, a flash. Pain meds and margaritas . . . maybe I can get Mallory out of the Waffle House. Probably not. She, we, us - well, it's a big menu. I'll just drop in and have dinner with her. In my PJs because she is just a fictional character. . .

In lieu of a novel writing month, which is a tad past halfway over, I've pledged to myself to write on this blog for the next 30 days. We'll see how that goes. Time will tell if I am good for my word, or just a procrastinator who wants to be a writer.

For now I am signing off and heading out for breakfast. All that talk of the Waffle House has made me hungry. Perhaps a bit of bacon and an omelet (who am I kidding, and a big fat waffle full of butter and syrup) will inspire me to figure out what Mallory would do next.

I've a heard a sugar high can get you going, too!