I have too much on my plate.
There's work, where the idea of taxing a skeleton staff beyond its limits is commonplace.
There's chorus, which is prepping for a show in a couple weeks and a HUGE competition in just another month.
There's the kids, who need need need. Unless they're nasty, in which case they aggravate aggravate aggravate.
There's cheerleading, which, obviously isn't on MY plate, per se, but the schlep factor involved in getting the Roo-girl to football games, tumbling, pep rallies, car wash ticket-selling opportunities, parades and (soon) competitions is daunting.
There's the rat dogs, who still insist on peeing on the sofa and crapping on the floor. The less said about THAT the better.
There's the house, which has a clutter factor that is making me feel claustrophobic and, at the same time, unable to unable to straighten.
And with all that, I still feel ...
The written word.
The power of the pen.
And the pull of the story that I have carried for 10 years.
November is NaNoWriMo -- National Novel Writing Month.
And in a fit of the crazies, I have signed up.
Signed up to write 50,000 words in a month. Signed up to turn my story into a fictionalized tale.
I have always wanted to do it but was afraid of it. A year-plus of blogging, however, has freed my inhibitions -- and my muse.
What have I got to lose? My sanity, perhaps. Time (sorry, honey, I know this won't thrill you).
I announce this publicly as a way of forcing myself to GO for it and not to give up.
But honestly? Failure is an option.
And I'm ok with that, too.