There is so much I love and appreciate about my new life, but one of the most special things is the special time I have found for writing. November is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). This is a real movement made more wonderful by a Google-able website. In prior years, Write-Ins were held in San Francisco where authors of all levels would converge and have a giant weekend Write-A-Thon. I can only imagine how wonderful those weekends were for those lucky enough to attend.
Every October, NaNoWriMo emails arrive, encouraging writers to fluff their nest and get ready to write their novel in November. Every October, I would find the perfect coffee cup and imagine myself writing the days away in sheer bliss. In reality, VST and I were so busy living our full and exciting lives, that the new coffee cup would remain empty, and the nest would never hatch a novel, or anything more than a few chapters that went no where.
Throughout the year, NaNoWriMo sponsors activities, like Spring and Summer writing camps. During this time, you can cyber “bunk” with other writers and camp out in the vast wilds of the internet while writing from the safety and comfort of your own home. But, their biggest event is the entire month of November, when you are encouraged to write a novel.
A novel???? Yes. 50,000 words. It seems so impossible when I look at the number. And yet, every day, I am here writing at least 1,500. Which puts me on track for at least 50,000 words. In my old life, I was always hopeful there would be 30 days in a row to write. Each year, I would make it through a few days, or a few weeks, but never finish. My new life is so different, and now, I have the time, energy, creativity, and Oliver to help me meet my goals.
I mention Oliver because the first thing one needs to write consistently is a partner that understands and encourages. Please endulge me while I explain Oliver’s importance in my writing endeavors.
For new readers, Oliver is my 2 year old cream based, chocolate piebald wire-hairded, green eyed dachshund. He is afflicted with OCD, as I am beginning to believe I am, as well. His mornings must be the same every day and include the following peculiarities.
Oliver was raised in our RV as we traversed the country, traveling 50,000 miles in 3 years. He was our companion for the last 1.5. As a puppy, he learned to use pee pads. Now, for those of you dog owners that have tried to teach this method and failed, it wasn’t you at all. To teach Oliver to tend to bathroom issues on command has taken hundreds of hours, extreme patience, and consistency. But, at this point, there are no long walks waiting for nature’s call. Oliver is quicker than me with the morning duties, all in the warmth and safety of our bathroom on a pee pad. No snowy walks. No wet paws. No lost dog in the dark. Just us, as we take care of business in the morning.
Next, Oliver expects breakfast. 1/3 cup of dog kibble. Have you every looked at how small 1/3 cup is? Oliver gives me that lecture every morning. He eats so fast, I needed to resort to a puzzle bowl, which slows him down a bit. He then must have at least two treats. He counts, and will not avert his gaze or move a muscle until he has had at least two and I show him empty hands. Being stared down by a green eyed dachshund will make an honest person of you. I make sure there are at least two.
It is then my time to have coffee in my recliner and look at my iPad, while waking up a little more. I like to consider the blog choices I listed from the night before and see what I feel like writing about. I always have at least three written down, because you never know what a night of dreaming will do to creativity levels. For those of you waiting for “Time and The Memorial, Part 2”, please be patient. I want that piece to be a perfect reflection of a complicated and beautiful day. I MUST do it justice.
While I am having coffee, Oliver has taken up a new role as Writing Master. He sits with his bone in his mouth, staring at me, fully at attention. He waits. He moans. He wiggles a bit. He stares more. When he can take no more, he barks. All while wagging his most adorable tail just a little bit.
“Mom-oh”. Hurry up. Don’t you want to write? In the other room? The one with my other bed? I have my bone. I am good at waiting while you write. “Mom-oh”….. Hurry up. We need to work!
I mean, who can resist? Oliver knows so many words, but, the one he never misses is “WORK”. He grabs his bone and dashes to my studio. After a bit of gnawing on his favorite new bone, he snores ever so sweetly, with the clickity-clack of the keyboard under my chubby, Germanic fingers as his lullaby. He sleeps until he hears the computer turn off, and then, he is ready to continue our day.
Without Oliver, so many things in my life would be upside down. He keeps me on track and on time. In the early days of widowhood, I wished Oliver’s life was better. Everything was chaotic, and yet, so still all at once. He was the consistent life force that needed care. Oliver needed routine. He needed clean pee pads. He needed toys and comfort. He needed, so I looked past the Kleenex box to make sure he was okay. Oliver learned to give hugs and listen. He quickly gave up the inquisitive looks when I cried in the dark, and sat on my recliner with me, assuring me that everything would be okay.
Now, Oliver is the first to see this writer bloom. He would tell you that it is something to behold. “Mom-Oh” in her heart studded robe, and fleece pj’s. Hair in morning wonkiness, she is in “THE ZONE” as she concentrates on all the stories swirling in her brain. He sleeps, because he has realized there are no conversations to be had while she writes. He sleeps because “Mom-Oh” has found her HAPPY.
If you haven’t run out to buy a journal, or started to keep one online, please do so. Until you do, Oliver will make sure I continue to write for us all.