I feel like the PB&J

I feel like a sandwich. Not eating one, but being one. On one side of me are the self-induced pressures of writing a novel for NaNoWriMo at the clip of 1700 words a day, plus participating in NaBloPoMo, with the requirement to post every day to this blog (thank god I only have one). On the other side is Thanksgiving looming before me. I’m hosting, as usual, and there will be twelve people at my house.

On the writing: I was out of town for six days, over last weekend, and accomplished some—but not enough—writing. I got to know my characters better, and figured out some scenarios that could work for the Big Secret they share.

This is good, for when writing a novel from scratch, i.e., when you pop open the laptop and start Word and a blank page stares you down and you then begin writing a story with characters you do not know and a town you have not named and a plot that is yet uninteresting, you have a huge challenge before you—one that is the most inspiring freedom you can experience. I think that’s the Whole Idea behind NaNoWriMo—have fun, be inspired, be overwhelmed with possibility, be scared that you cannot do it, and do it anyway. How very cool.

As for Thanksgiving, I’m thankful that I don’t have to cook a turkey, which is going to happen about the same time I become a size 2 and give up beer and wine. I do let it into my house, however, but only because I don’t want to be the Thanksgiving Witch. I’d rather have a meatless day—it is my house, after all, but I want my friends and family to be happy, too.

I do have about one hundred and fifty other things on my list, from cleaning the house and shopping for groceries to finding the china and figuring out how to get twelve people around my table.

I’m feeling a little squished, but it will be fine. It will all work out. We’ll have plenty of good visiting and conversation and lots of food to eat. But not PB&Js.