So, I’m almost two weeks and a few face palm moments into this NaNoWriMo thing, coming to grips with the whole layer of stress I’ve added to a month already filled with frenetic activity. Signing on to write 50,000 words in 30 days wasn’t my Most Brilliant Idea of All Time, apparently.
And I live with enablers. That’s a problem. You put the holidays together with the co-dependency thing and it’s a recipe for a whole lotta’ not getting stuff done around here in a timely fashion.
Exhibit 1: A typical evening at our house:
“Did you get a run in today?”
“Uh, nope … did you?”
“Well I walked out to the mailbox in my socks, and I kind of did this kind of tip-toey, joggy thing because the pavement was cold. Does that count?”
“Count? That’s probably worth a Snickers bar right there. Is your mom coming over for dinner?”
“I don’t know, what do you think we should have?”
“It kind of sounds like pizza night.”
“Good answer. Did you write anything today?”
“I got a couple hundred words in, you?”
“It just so happened, I worked out a major plot problem and one of my characters suffered a huge set back, but he got back on track with the help of his friends and is working through it.”
“That sounds awesome. Good job.”
“Unfortunately, this was all in my head in the shower this morning. Then, I got out, got dressed and ran to a meeting. Now I can’t remember anything except that it was really good.”
“Huh. That sucks.”
“But, oh, hey, that writer’s group on Facebook is chalk full of people who met their goals early and are on their way to another novel, so I can always revel in their hard work and determination.”
“Living vicariously is always a good plan B… Do we have any beer?”
Then under the heading of news I’m unsure whether it makes me feel better or worse about my slackerliness: Jack’s school has apparently been participating in some of their own, junior NaNoWriMo action.
If our recent conversation is any indication, I’m light years ahead of any of his classmates, but I suspect that bar is set fairly low.
“Have you been writing for this thing yet?”
“No, I don’t know when we’re starting that.”
“Do you ‘not know’ because everyone’s been working on it, and you were drifting off that day and missed the cue to get started?”
“No, MOM, we’ve been doing other stuff. But when we do get started, I have this great idea for a book.”
“Okay, hit me.”
“Well, it’s me, and these guys from school and we all have superpowers.”
“Huh. What kind of superpowers?”
“So, like, Cletus can shoot rainbow lasers out of his eyes and the palms of his hands.”
“Uh huh. What good does that do?“
“It’s just a really awesome thing to be able to do, Mom. And then Malachai … well, Malachai has this power I’m supposed to look up on a game or something.”
“What’s your superpower?” The superpower conversation is one we have frequently, so I expect to hear flying or teleporting or time travel or something.
“Well, instead of hands, I have a big bear heads at the end of each arm, and I can go around eating my enemies.”
“Jack, that is just plain, old weird. What could possibly be so super about having bear heads instead of hands?”
“It’s awesome, mom, think about it. I’ll be able to tell people ‘I will kill you with my bear hands.’”
So, yeah. Not only will I never complete my novel, apparently I’ll never be the intended audience for anything my son plans on writing either. Because I do. Not. Get. It.
At the end of the day, it is rather a good thing we have beer.
… By the way, I used pseudonyms for Jack’s friends. I don’t want to out them as superheroes with questionable superpowers. As for Jack, with his bear head hands, he’s going to have a hard time maintaining a disguise anyway. If you can’t see him coming and get out of the way, you probably deserve whatever you get.
Unless the bear heads wear Clark Kent glasses or something. That would totally throw people off.
I know you were expecting so much more, but I work with what I got, people. If you would do me the favor of voting, I’ll try a little harder next time. Thanks.