Just like that, October is over, and here we are in November, the calendar's gateway to winter. It's about to get really dark, earlier in the evening, and really cold. I don't think I have enough sweaters yet. I don't have enough coal or wood socked away. I haven't weather-proofed my car. There is a sense that I'm about to lose all control over my environment.So why not just go insane and do nutty things, like sign up for NaNoWriMo?
Writing a 50,000 novel in a month would mean I'd have to write about 1666 words a day. Some days that's no big whoop. Most days, that's a big whoop. But I'm going to sign up anyway,because I just think November is so insane, I might as well say, "what the hell?"
November isn't October. No use pretending that it is. Why not lock oneself in a room and hammer out 1666 words a day?