You’re right, I should Risk it. The thought that I can’t concentrate sufficiently to write 60,000 words in November is utter Balderdash. Perhaps this is my chance to have the world beat a path to my door by writing the better literary Mousetrap.
Oh, it’s about WRITING a novel, I was going to try and READ one in 30 days. Six panels takes me forever, I can’t even attempt character development, set up, conflict and resolution, plus a foreward, forget it.
These days I don’t think I could do a story that was sixty thousand words long and even if I did think I could do a story that long I don’t pretend that anyone but myself would enjoy it, or honestly even be able to wade through the whole thing since I do sometimes tend to go off on some pretty strange tangents and wind myself up and down and in and out like a wicker chair of language and wicked stare of mangled metaphors and mixed sentiment but not like mixed drinks which I have heard are actually pretty good if you want to get seriously twisted and know out some good prose although I think Kerouac did On The Road on only coffee and then I wonder where my good coffee thermos is, the one that really works as well as the other should except the other is a cheap chinese knock off of an American original and then I remember that everyone wants to write the great American novel and that November is the perfect month for doing it unless, of course, you have a job or children or a house that needs to be cleaned or you are just a general slackass like myself who couldn’t possibly string together sixty thousand words into anything cohesive unless he was tied to a chair and forced to translate the works of Dan Brown into English and that task seems like it would be better suited to someone with more of a taste for self-flagellation than even I could muster on a good day in November when I am not busy cleaning a house or watching children or working or looking for work and I think actually, now that I think about it, that maybe that was the reason that I never finished my novel five years ago and that would be the reason: I was just getting back to a working situation after having spent several months laid up with an injury to not just my back but also to my pride and my ego and it prevents me even to this day from writing as clearly as I want to sometimes when I want to write and right now I don’t even think it would be right for me to consider writing when there are so many other productive things I could be doing in the world…like laundry.
