NaNoWriMo
I am amazed at how popular is this particular form of self-inflicted torture. Masochism for the masses! You don't even need to leave the comfort of your computer chair! The truth is, I'm secretly jealous. I'm jealous of all the born-novelists out there who have innumerable stories welling up in their psyches just waiting to burst forth and bless the reading population. I'm jealous of those literary voices who just need an excuse and an incentive to put it all down on paper, who have to do it fast or won't do it at all.
I, in contrast, have nothing to say.
I am reminded of Meg Ryan's character in You've Got Mail, who can't even think of a synonym for blank. This is why I blog. Inspiration comes to me in little spurts, and I have to grab it while I can because if I try to save it all up for one month out of the year, I'll find that it doesn't keep that long. Like manna: here today; stale tomorrow. Maybe someday the events and observations of my life will add up to something that needs written. Until then, I will gaze longingly from the sidelines.
If it's any consolation - and why should it be? - I don't have 50,000 words of fiction just waiting for an opportunity to spill onto the screen. It's all I can do some days to come up with something to mollify my handful of blog readers.