After successfully starting the NaNoWriMo challenge on the road and writing without struggle for seven days, my return home has felt like slogging through a writer's bog. Twelve days of mail scattered on every table in the house is screaming my name. There is the nagging nuisance of the phone ringing. Not to mention my well meaning spouse who wants to make sure that I am aware of the status of the remodeling project that is happening in my living room.
Well, the first week of the challenge is over and I am at 13,424. According to my stat tracker, I have to step up my game or I won't make my goal of 50,000 words on November 30. The pressure is effecting me. Life is calling me. Things like keeping in contact with my family and friends beckons to me. The gods of order and cleanliness are hounding me for ignoring my duties as a the keeper of all things. My cat has begun to bother my husband for her food because she knows that once I close my office door not even a nuclear attack can get me out.
Why, someone asked me would you want to write a novel in a month? Why not? It's the challenge. It's why individuals climb mountains, run marathons, knit, bake, sit through movie marathons - because I want to do try to do it.