With Day 2 behind me and Day 3 just beginning, I feel as though I am getting into my stride early.

I am fortunate to have a slight advantage over some of the new writers in NaNoWriMo in that I have spent many years writing.  During several of those years, I even worked at it full-time, writing between 14-16 hours a day even.  This kind of manic writing where nothing else enters your mind does not frighten me.

Aaaaaaannnnnnnnd we’re off.

November 1st brought about a little writing and a lot of alcohol (within reason… it’s not like I was slurring my speech or falling off of my chair).  Call it nerves or fear, I just kept topping my drink.  I can see how writers lean toward alcoholism… the two just seem to walk hand in hand (presumably to keep each other from falling over).

I got just over a thousand words (1073 to be exact) written last night.  It’s important to note that with my wife out of town on business, I’m doing more around the house and with the kids which takes up a lot of my time in the evenings.  Also, my youngest daughter had her semi-final flag football game last night (they lost), so we didn’t get home till later.

As some of you may be aware, I have chosen to take part in NaNoWriMo this year.  For those who are not in the ‘know’, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month.  Basically, you are expected to write 50,000 words during the month of November.  Yes… 50,000 words.

I didn’t come by this decision easily.  I work full-time, have a large family (wife, four kids and a needy dog), not to mention a lot of interests which take up a lot of my time.  That being said however, NaNoWriMo is a finite project (has a very clear end-date).  I can handle that.

Content.

That’s why people buy a book.  It isn’t a fancy cover or splashy title.

Content.

When getting ”The Zen of Shaving One’s Balls” compiled, that is what I kept reminding myself.  My second collection of poetry, ”it’s about no longer being a bastard”, had a very definite theme.  The narrator goes through a healing process in that collection, and you can’t help but feel for him/her.  I like that there is power in that collection merely from the fact that you have emotionally invested yourself in this person.  Readers assume I am this narrator, which forces them to feel even more for the pieces.

There must be an easier way to do this.

This thought crosses my mind often as I am creating hard cover copies of my books.  To be fair, it is a painstakingly long process, though one that I thoroughly enjoy (for a time).  I feel that making my own books is an integral part of who I am as a writer.  I believe that book making and writing fit so perfectly together.

There are those who would argue that a writer’s time should be spent writing… and leave the book making to those who are gifted at doing just that.

There is a lot of truth to this statement, though to be honest, I don’t think that a writer can truly appreciate their work until they have poured blood, sweat and tears into its full creation.  I find this is especially true when hard cover binding your work.

“I can’t believe it’s been five years already.” she says (one of many times this weekend).

“I know.” I reply, suddenly solemn.  “It would be though… I was on the phones at the time.”

I’d been working at the telecentre as a service delivery agent.

“I remember when Karla came in and told me a plane had crashed into the first tower.” I recount, and though she’s heard the story quite a few times in the last five years, she listens.  And despite the fact that she knows each word I will say, she hears what I am saying.  Her mind is not wandering, recollecting her own memories.  She is there with me completely.

You may have noticed a new button on the right.  Yes, I am toying with the idea of starting a Podcast wherein I would perform some of the pieces published here on The Frozen Man.

I’ve always loved performing my work, though have not gotten much of a chance to do so as of late.  There aren’t many venues for that where I currently live.

There’s something very moving about hearing your written words aloud.  I always make certain to read my pieces out loud as I am rewriting them, as this helps ensure that the words flow nicely upon the tongue.  That being said, to perform them for others is simple bliss.

I came to the conclusion a few weeks back that I cannot write.  I am but a babe at the foot of giants whose literary works leave me breathless and confused.

I want to make it very clear that I am not being melodramatic, nor am I seeking any type of encouragement.  I am merely voicing what has been going on in my mind for several weeks now.