Notebook 8 | . . .

Shit. I’ve gotten into that weird mode of only wanting to write. I had planned on reading tonight and sat down with a couple of books, a novel and an anthology, and couldn’t bring myself to turn the pages. Grabbed a stack of comics and they couldn’t keep my attention past a couple of pages either.

Maybe it’s just the stressful day at work that’s soured my mood and made me listless this evening. Month-end is always intense and the flurry of needy emails severely grate on my nerves. Friday and Monday at work will no doubt be their own special versions of Hell.

Or maybe I’m just anxious about starting NaNoWriMo in less than a week. Since I’ve been trying to wrap and tidy up other things prior to starting, I haven’t exactly prepped myself for THE literary endeavor of the year, aside from mentally. Well, I do have a summary written and some other conceptual notes from the summer when the idea originated in my noggin. I need to tweak the summary some. Write a skeletal outline. 

But I’m supposed to be working on a short comic script for a talent search as well. I think the anticipation and mental build-up of writing a novel, uninterrupted for a month at least, has diverted my attention from that. Like NaNo, it also has a November 30th deadline.

I suppose it’s possible NaNoWriMo has got me ready to forsake all else. Which is fine because that’s pretty much the only way I’ll be able to achieve a modicum of success with it.

All else must be shunned!

No squirrel is going to distract this eager, happy-go-lucky dog . . .

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