November, first of all, is just a hideous month in which to try to do anything major. I suppose that writing a book would fall under the heading of "Something Major." It also falls under the headings of "What the Hell Am I Thinking?" "I Need My Damn Head Examined," and "Bad Ideas: Part Ten Million" Since, however, easily half of the things that I have done in my life also fall under all these last three headings, I won't be deterred. What could go wrong?
Perhaps, if you're reading this, you have looked at a calendar and correctly observed that it's not November just yet. In un-typical fashion, I'm thinking ahead. I started this project last year, on November 1, and ended up with many pages of draft material that in no way form anything resembling a novel, but which contain quite a few salvageable bits and pieces that I can work into this year's magnum opus. Silver linings are everywhere, and while I'm almost entirely lacking in focus and concentration, I do possess better-than-average organizational skills and an excellent memory. So I can find, pretty quickly, the pages of dialogue and the street scene descriptions from early novel chapters from last year, and part of a story that I wrote for my last class at UMUC, all in different folders, each with several individual versions, and copy, paste, and rework the parts that will be useful for this latest attempt.
Meanwhile, a POV change from first-person to semi-omniscient third-person has revolutionized the whole thing, and so now, I might have not only snappy dialogue, but an actual story, in which things actually happen. If not, then at least I'll get to re-read some funny things that I wrote last year. I should be ashamed of this, but I laugh uproariously at my own jokes. I might or might not have a novel by the end of next month, but at least I'll be entertained by my funny funny self. I really might need my head examined.
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