I know you mean well. I know your purpose is a pure one. I know I needed to be writing more regularly. The more I write, the more I find to write about, the easier it is to spot the tiniest string of a thought and hear it narrate itself into a story in my mind.
But right now?
Right now it's day 23 and I say FUCK YOU! You and your write every day bullshit. Who can do that? Who, who doesn't do that already, like, for a job or something? Or who hasn't taken the entire month off from their non writing type job just to have a few spare minutes in which to write a decent post every single day?
EVERY? SINGLE? DAY? Are you out of your freaking mind? Who can do that?
I don't know who can, but I'll tell you who can't. Me. I can't. Oh, I can write a post everyday. Look at me go, la la la, writing posts every day. But a good one every day? Even a decent one? Jesus Christ, NaBloPoMo, who do you think I am? Virginia Freaking Wolf? Because that woman could write, couldn't she? She'd just drone on and on and on and everyone pretends its great because that's what you're supposed to do and no one wants to look stupid by suggesting they can't follow a single fucking thought she splays out there without punctuation or structure or anything that might give you a fucking clue when to take a breath and also I like kittens when they're all rolly poly and don't yet know that their tail is attached to their own ass.
See that, Ms. Wolf? I can do stream of consciousness too. La di freaking da.
So you know what I have, NaBloPoMo? Do you? I have a whole list of things to write about, because this little exercise is at least accomplishing that. I am seeing stories everywhere. But I can't write them until this damned NaBloPoMo month of hell is over. Because until then, I don't have the time, the days it takes me to write a decent post. You can't take days to write a post when you have to write a post EVERY. SINGLE. DAY., now can you?
So fuck you, NaBloPoMo. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. (Which people actually do 'round these parts. Horse fucking, that is. No, really.)
A Woman on the Edge