I have five minutes left of the first day of the national novel writing month kick off. Five minutes left and not a clue as to what I am doing. I had sort of been playing around with the idea of trying to participate but hadn’t even remotely tried to figure anything out beyond that. Five minutes left and not a clue as to how to start could be the tagline for my entire life. I used to think I would be a brilliant writer, I used to love to write poetry, my husband is always telling me to write. Maybe once upon a time someone thought I had potential. Can anthologies also be novels? Can all these tiny excerpts become a cohesive whole? Maybe something for my kids to read when I am gone, or maybe they can read it while I am still alive.
I feel like there’s a void, could I fill it or will I be yet another voice lost in the throng? That little voice in my head that says, “no one cares, no one would read anything you wrote, you are not worthy” needs to shut up. I want to write about; being a mother, being a millennial, being a woman on the verge of diverging cultures, parenting special needs children, being a woman with crippling anxiety, on simply being, and how all those things are deeply woven in to the tapestry of living. My life is singularly mine and yet I want to connect to other women who resonate with my frequency. Through writing I want to discover my narrative and define what it means to be a millennial and a mother. Through writing I hope others will discover that they are not alone.
So that five minutes definitely passed, and now it’s ten minutes into Nov 2. I have a clue now, but I am still finding my voice. My goal is 500 words a day, it’s small but reasonable for where I am. My novel won’t look like a novel, it may look like leaves of grass, it may look like fragments of a woman, it may look like all my hopes and dreams for the future. Maybe it’ll be writing prompts or just a flow of thoughts at the end of a day.
Instead of just writing and saving it to my desktop, I want to use this wordpress platform. I want to leave myself open and vulnerable, because what is art if it is not for the greater world community? If at some point of everyday in these next 30 days I can sit still and reflect and turn it in to something remotely cohesive I will call this NanoWrimo a success. Perhaps serial novelists will call my attempts flippant, but I will hopefully go from writing little to nothing and hoarding my thoughts to writing daily and polishing my ideas in to relatable characters.
Thirty minutes in to Nov 2 now. I am eager, I am tired, I am open, I am a woman balancing many things and completely unable to balance others. This is the beginning of my story.