Write mo'

I decided not to do #NaNoWriMo this year. Part of that is because I’ve never done it. Never even attempted it. Don’t even want to. Writing a novel is a life goal of mine, but cramming it all into one month isn’t for me. November is impossibly busy. But I do think it would be cool to have a big excuse for avoiding all those obligations. “Dave, come to this holiday party!” “Sorry, I’m writing a novel.” “Dave, come work at the school’s fall carnival!” “Sorry, I’m writing a novel.” “Dave, pay attention to your kids!” “Sorry, I’m writing a novel.” See, that level of self-preservation and pre-emptive boxing out of other responsibilities would be so cool. Like cigarettes cool. Despite not having a novel excuse, I am feeling compelled to wri’ mo’ this month. Whether it’s autumnal ghosts or pumpkin spices, there’s a draw pulling me back to my text editor. A vapor of creativity stolen by corporate dementors and their infernal machines, seeping back into my lifeless shell. Last week I powered…

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