On Second Thought, Maybe I Won’t Do NaNoWriMo This Year

Some time tomorrow, which is the first day of November, the second to last month of the year twenty eleven a.d., a Tuesday like so many other Tuesdays that have come before and likely will come again barring any unforeseen incidents, such as the unexpected abrupt heartbreaking end of the world (almost certainly brought about by climate change, terrorism, or the shocking whim of some almighty yet regrettably undocumented and unseen diety), I plan on embarking on an epic journey many fantasy and/or young adult and/or vampire-obsessed authors (most likely middle class and white, if my standard prejudices are correct as usual) have begun in previous earth-revolved years, though not too many have completed: the task of composing in nouns, verbs and adjectives a fictional tale approximating fifty thousand English words within the span of thirty calendar days, preferably a quality piece of somewhat legible creative writing with a stunningly tight, suspense-filled plot: a literary tour de force featuring, as some great scribe approximately put it, “a beginning, middle and end — though not necessarily in that order,” a story I won’t be able to stop writing unless sleep is absolutely required by the mysterious yet unencumberable (Christ is that even a word?) laws of nature and you, dear reader, will not be able to put down on your night stand, day bed, lovely floral-patterned living-room carpet, or any other hard and/or reasonably flat non-dampened surface, a story so tear-inducing and life-altering (we’re talking The Twilight Saga, Book 1 meets A People’s History of the United States 1492-Present meets The Five People You Meet in Heaven meets everything written by the guy whose writing I’ve been reading a lot of lately, Peter Matthiessen, that Buddhistic author, here) that only the most talented, influential and circumspect literary bloggers in the whole snark-infested blogosphere will be able to filter their bliss down to reviews numbering fewer than two thousand digitally projected words, the URLs of which will almost certainly be so enthusiastically long (I’m thinking at minimum five hyphens and four periods) they will require shortening by a leading online link-clipping service such as bit.ly, owl.ly, t.co, fb.me — thank god they are free in this economy of oppressed working-class ipod owners — rise up, 99%, the writers of the world sympathize with your plight, just check out that new website of minimal design yet maximum impact, occupywriters.com!!! — and the titles of which will resemble the finest, most flowery sentences reserved normally for the obituaries of impossibly corrupt yet incredibly well-spoken and well-connected former heads of state, and the comments on which will likely include every annoying, smiley, life-is-good, don’t-worry-be-happy emoticon ever invented by every teenage girl with an unlimited text and data plan in the whole United States (even the spam will read like the timeless William Shakespeare, the Bard of Avon who blessed us all with so many brilliant works of compelling drama such as the wordily titled “As You Like It,” “All’s Well That Ends Well,” and the somewhat less celebrated “Two Gentlemen of Verona”) — that’s right, dear readers of amateur fiction, tomorrow I will embark once again on an ill-fated attempt at completing the first draft of a novel within the span of one miserably over-verbalized, coffee-and-rain/snow-drenched period of thirty days: it’s time for another battle with NaNoWriMo, otherwise known as National Novel Writing Month, otherwise known as The Month of Too Many Adjectives.

Wait a minute — that was only 568 words?
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