national novel writing month.
i had planned to start nanowrimo yesterday with the simple task of writing something every day. i know i dont have a novel in me right now, but i do have thoughts. lots of thoughts. thoughts that could fill a vast void.
but what i dont have, what i havent had for a long time, is a voice. i dont know my place, my purpose, my intention. who do i write for? myself? a specific audience?
who do i hide my words from? him, her, them? what do i fear?
oh, that’s the question isnt it?
according to my 30 Before 30 bucket list, i wanted to tell my story before December 28. i am glad i didnt say to whom. i think step one may be to just put it on paper.. instead of into the ether.
i’ve told my story so many times.. in my head. sometimes even out loud, in my car, to myself. i’ve developed a certain rhythm, a consistency to the facts. like a testimony. replaying for myself what happened, and when, and who said what, and what i did next, and what i didnt do.
but it still doesnt seem quite real. the doubt is still there. did i really say that? am i exaggerating? that sounds more like me, not like him. did i create this story? if i write it all down, is it fact or fiction?
what i’m reading: