Well Nano came and went. Again. I registered a title, but November somehow did not cooperate with my writing goals. Not even close. *sigh* So I guess NEXT year will be better. It's gotta be better because, really, 2020 has been a wreck. And that is an extreme understatement. You would think with all the self-quarantining this past year I would have something more to show for it, right? Even a little. So maybe this post qualifies me on that front. It's little. Very little. But at least it's something. I'm claiming points for that.

Well. This year a lot has happened, and perhaps all that stuff will actually allow me to participate more fully in NaNoWriMo this year. I'm not holding my breath, but here's hoping.

It's Friday, October 30th, and NaNoWriMo is almost here. I've got about an hour left tonight, and 24 hours tomorrow before the gun goes off and the race to 50K words begins once more. Every year I do this, and every year to date I have not reached that magic number. Not even come close.  Maybe this year will be the charmer. My paying job disappeared recently so I can't really use that as an excuse anymore.  Can I manage to keep my promise to myself about writing every day?  I hope so. As for subject matter, there is only a vague idea floating around in my brain at the moment. I'll see what comes out starting on Sunday.

So I'm thinking about myself and writing.  I have wanted to write ... felt a natural pull toward writing ... since I was a teen.  I am well beyond those years now, and I'm thinking... I remember I used to have all this PASSION about things.  Where did it go?  It's like I don't have enough interest in things these days to bother wanting to put the effort into shaping words about them. I have no sense of excitement about anything anymore.  Am I getting old?  Am I getting jaded?  I wrote one of the best stories of my life when I was screaming angry.  That emotion made its way into the story, and gave it a particular punch.  It's probably not very healthy to ALWAYS be experiencing extremes of passion--but there should be occasional rises of something, no?  Else everything would be just ... colorless.

So.  I'm looking for my lost passion.  It must be around here somewhere.  Did it get scared and go hide behind some pile of daily debris?  Or did it get discouraged with me and  think I didn't want or need it anymore... because I had too many other mundane things grabbing at my attention?  Did it give up on me? 

How do you rediscover a passion that once lived deep inside you, but seems to have vanished?  

 Why is it that life seems to tumble by so fast that much of it is gone before you realize it?  I think part of me wants to write because part of me wants to reflect on what is racing by so fast.  The big question is why I never seem to take the time to indulge that part of me.  I have a few moments now, and I am just thinking of all the things that have happened this past year, and how I neglected to write down my thoughts much here, or anywhere.  It's one thing to be all zen and living in the moment to the fullest -- which is really how all life should be lived anyway -- but that living in the moment doesn't really get appreciated unless there is some time taken to reflect on it.  At least that's how it seems to me.

So I have to ask myself why it is I don't seem to take the time to reflect on things.  Well, I guess I have to correct that statement somewhat.  Because you see, I DO reflect on things.  I just don't take the time to RECORD those reflections.  And I guess that's where I am failing the part of me that wants to be a writer ... that wants to record things ... that wants to make observations ... 

As if my observations matter.  Well, they do.  To me.  And I guess maybe that's what counts most.  Because really, when we tell a story, WHY do we tell it?  There is something inside the story... the kernel of an observation about life... that we just feel obliged to express.  We have to tell someone, even if the audience that makes up that "someone" is the disinterested Universe, to whom we effectively say, "Reflect on this, please."  

So I need to write more.  I need to take the time to put down those fleeting reflections that I need to put out to the Universe. 

I'll try to do better.  

I don't know where the time has gone, but yet another year has gone by and another NaNoWriMo (with no entry by me again, I might add), and it is once more approaching the dreaded Tax Month.  I just went through this, didn't I?  I thought I did.  So.  It's March.  I'm planning to get a little earlier start on those figures than I did last year.  I guess I just dread finding out how bad off we really are.  

Where did my optimism go?