I’m unsure if I should try to write a novel next month.

All of my reasons for not writing are complete bs. I don’t have time (well, when will I EVER have time?), I need more time to prepare (well certainly I can make SOME time), I will fail and feel bad about myself (but I won’t fail if I committ myself to success), I am a crappy writer and I shouldn’t even try (this may be true but is not particularly productive).

Other excuses cycle up. I will feel some sort of latent Shame for participating, because I haven’t tried to write a book since LAST November (which I never completed) and haven’t completed one since the November before that. I am, therefore, an impostor writer who only writes books when it’s November and should give up the dream already. It’s just not working out. And the implied “You Are Not a Serious Writer Because Serious Writing Takes More Than 30 Days” is lurking around.

I do hear positive notes whispering in my ear. NaNoWriMo is FUN. It is Productive. It is Possible, Useful, and Better Than The Alternative (which is to not write a book in November)

I guess I want to.

There is a large possibility that this will be a painful, painful experience. I do have priorities that NaNo Can. Not. Supercede. I have a few thousand pages to read, a handful of papers to write, and I’m getting my 8 hours of sleep every night so help me God.

I’m flying on false confidence here. Yes, I’m having a few easy weeks. Yes, I am ahead in my reading. Yes, I rocked my 90 minute group presentation on Marxism and I came home to a 3.6 on my Archetypal paper (A 3.6! I’m not getting worse! My stingy-with-praise professor even used the word “excellent” to describe something within it!). I woke up yesterday with a chest-cold thing and felt like crap all day but I made it. I didn’t lose consciousness in front of my classmates and I came home to some shrimp scampi cooked up by my one and only.

So I’m feeling like the impossible could be within reach.

Maybe.