(Taken from a note written on October 31st)
Returning from a road trip and collapsing into bed late on Wednesday night, I felt a superb sense of relief. At last: back on a regular schedule. At last: some rest, some sleep, and some looking forward to the weekend.
And then it hit me, something which I had managed to utterly forget, if only for a few seconds. Tomorrow is...
So much for relief.
With all the planning, plotting, history-writing, character-building, world-constructing, etc. which has gone on for months, one would think I’d be prepared.
News flash: I am not.
I’m exhausted and unsure and, what is worse, I can’t think of my first line. First lines are important. More than that, they are essential. And I have nothing. Zilch. Nada. Usually, you see, the starting line is one of the first things that will come to my mind when considering any story, but for this year’s NaNo, I am at a loss. Granted, the first line isn’t everything, certainly not during November—but they are vital to the story, they tend to set the stage and the form for all the writing that comes after. Here’s hoping that inspiration hits early sometime tomorrow morning.
Previously on November 1st, I have endeavored to wait up until midnight and then sit happily writing the first words in the first moments of that first day of November. The first year I participated in this national frenzy of creative blathering I had no such ambition. The second year, I thought that welcoming November with as much flash and bling and celebration as New Year’s Day would simply make the whole month. However, I was not, at that time, used to staying up late at all and I sat there on my bed, munching on some candy. I remember laying back to get more comfortable, reveling in the bliss and silence of a darkened house on an exciting night. I remember glancing at the clock once again and seeing that I had about fifteen minutes to go before midnight. And then I woke up the next morning. I had fallen asleep while waiting. The third year was better. I managed to stay up until midnight with very little problem and clocked in my first thousand words before 1am.
This night, however, I am too tired to care about staying up to midnight. Tonight, I plan on finishing this little note and heading off to bed just as fast as my wearied limbs will take me. (Okay, so it’s not like my trip was that long or hard. I’m just worn out.)
And so, without further adieu, I am going to bed. Tomorrow is the start to another month. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is another story to be told.