I’m attempting NaNoWriMo this year.
Even though I am exhausted.
Even though my anxiety is clearly still an issue – I spent all night having nightmares about being late for work (because we had a home visit euthanasia scheduled first thing in the morning) and then woke to Owl going “eight! Eight there, Mommy!” and exploding out of bed in a panic because it was 8:15 and I had to be at work in 30 minutes (by some miracle, Owl was highly cooperative and I actually made it).
Even though I may be picking up two new dog training clients this weekend and am experiencing so much anxiety about it that it makes me wonder why I do it.
Even though Owl’s sleep has fallen apart again and we’re having to make a formal sleep training plan again.
Even though we’re planning on potty training him soon.
Because I have had this story idea for almost a year, and I need something like NaNoWriMo to push me into actually writing it.
I’m hoping you guys like the idea – it’s a parody of Twilight, only featuring a heavy-set, intelligent, self-condident girl who moves to the big city of Vancouver and ends up in a relationship with a devoted undead servant, who considers her wish to be his command.
Basically, it’s Twilight the way I think it should have been written.
Here’s an excerpt from what I wrote yesterday. It’s the opening preface:
Healthy young people don’t expect to die young, and I am not any different in that respect. When we do fear death, though, it tends to come in nightmarish forms – the monsters under your bed, the thing in the closet. Now here I stood, fearing death from the kind of terrifying, ravening monsters that haunt people in nightmares. Except that I was awake, and this was real, and I could very well be killed in a disgustingly gory way.
Maybe I should have gained some comfort from the fact that I was loved. Beloved. Adored. Worshipped, even. When you are in love, you are supposed to hold hands, and face death with serene acceptance. Maybe we could share a dramatic kiss as we died in the tradition of star crossed lovers everywhere.
“Fuck that shit,” I said as my chainsaw sputtered and then began to roar. “Let’s slice off some heads.”
What do you think?