Not this year

Oh NaNoWriMo, how I love you. Last year, I compared the challenge to my version of Christmas (since I don't have the wherewithal to visit my family around the Holidays), but ended up failing to write 50,000 words because that story didn't want to be written. This year, as you all know, I'm in school, and won't have the time or energy to start a new story and bang out all those words in a month. November's going to be tricky for me anyway.

However, I can't stay away from writing, even if I'm not starting anything new. Since I've gotten to New York, I've been plugging away at editing Awake, my favorite, ever-changing mess of a novel. I have high hopes for it this go round, though.

Sometimes writing is the only thing that keeps me sane. I'm learning something completely new (and a bit foreign), living in a new (big and very crowded) city, with some ... interesting roommates. When asked why I write mysteries, why I focus on kidnappings and murders and dark things like that, I tell them I have to write it down so I don't do it in real life. That usually gets me a laugh ... but sometimes I wonder if it's not completely true.

Living away from my husband and with someone who seems to only find fault in what I do, writing is the one thing that stays exactly the same in either place. Sure, the characters and plot are always being tweaked, but Sophia always loves Josh, and they all want to know just how the hell to get home.

Another thing to keep my sanity in place is re-watching old TV shows I used to love. Because my internet connection is crap for crap and I can't watch new TV, I've been either watching DVDs or patiently waiting for something to load on Netflix. The two shows I've gotten (re)hooked on are The Young Ones, and Star Trek: The Next Generation. ... Better than focusing on not having a husband or a cat in my room, and blocking out my roommate's conversations about poop.