I didn’t participate in National Novel Writing Month this year even though I had planned to do so. I really, really did.
I felt it was time to get published again and I had planned to use NaNoWriMo as the thingus, like some others did it, to do some writing because of the commitment to the structure (for a certain time everyday) where I would force myself to do some typing stuff. So I could start and finish what I started.
I’d go into excruciating, heart-rending detail about why I didn’t participate this year but when I started this blog I made a pledge that I would not use it as a forum diary about sad, pathetic personal tales like so many others do.
Suffice it to say that “things” happened with my employer’s ridiculously dysfunctional payroll department over the last several months that left me a little too stressed to focus on writing a novel. Anything I attempted to write would have just veered away from the plot and consisted of angry rants about the lousy modern American work ethic, people that are promoted above their level of competency and not, as I intended, about the besieged Southern California community invaded by 175 pound mutant tarantulas controlled by brain-infesting alien parasites. Hey, there is always next year.