In the mist

Another photo from Niagara. It was pretty chilly out, and the general grayness, combined with the mist from the falls, was incredibly cool. Sometimes, when you can't see much, your world and the good things in it seem all the more clear.

Given that it's November, and thus time, once again, for National Novel Writing Month, I may not update much for awhile. Head down, fingers poised over the keyboard, emerging only for intermittent jogs and the odd cup of spicy, milky chai.

Well, well, well

Yup, it's official: I "won" Nanowrimo. I made a novel, or, more accurately, squeezed out 50,339 vaguely related words. (Tip: Give your protagonist a verbal tic -- my main character's speech was peppered liberally with "wells" and "perhapses" and "you sees.")

I have some thoughts about all this, but right now, I want to lose myself in Joanna Scott's The Manikin, which is almost un-put-down-able (I did, in fact, put it down to put in my final 1,800 words this evening, but I DID NOT WANT TO).

A chill in the air

Fall: no better time in the world, especially in New York. The leaves are all manner of gorgeous, culture kicks into high gear, and everything is liberally spiked with pumpkin essence -- lattes, bread, ice cream. Big bouquets of dried flowers (see above) are only fifteen dollars at the Union Square Greenmarket; snuggling up with a mug of hot cocoa and a book is an acceptable way to spend one's Friday night; and the whole season culminates in Thanksgiving, a gastronome's delight, where your biggest worry is whether the bird, six colorful sides, two pies, and a case of wine will carry you through the night.

Or at least that's how it should be. This year has been a strange one, and November has proved no exception. Everything seems extremely urgent and yet as fleeting as a fog that rolls in before dawn and dissipates by 10 a.m. I may be in the home stretch of National Novel Writing Month (just 10,000 words to go), but there are a lot of other balls still in the air. I'll let this photo of my cat's mournful cry express my agita:

Nano-ing my wrimo

No, that doesn't make sense. At all. Anyhow! I am valiantly attempting National Novel Writing Month again. I've made several abortive efforts to excrete 50,000 words in the span of November, and I've never actually made it to the finish line. Maybe this year will be different? Right now, it's 300 words about a girl staring at a blank page as she tries to think of something interesting to write for Nanowrimo. Ummm ... yes, this will not end well.