Dog walking isn’t a job for comfort seekers. And here in Maine, it takes a truly rare breed (pun intended).
Today marks the official start of NaNoWriMo and my wise husband has warned me not to try to boil the ocean. “Just write a post each week, babe. Something manageable.” I know he’s right, BUT DOES THIS MAN NOT KNOW ME??! When I get an idea I don’t just run with it, I hoist it over my head and head for the hills! Some live their lives at a comfortable simmer, frequently I’m more like a full steam roiling boil. When I read that New York Times article yesterday I was like, “Oh. Okay.” But then the pot started to simmer, and it got me thinking of so many other things I’d done before. Like moving to Maine, or writing a cookbook, or having a baby, or trying out for roller derby when I’ve got a chronic disease that gives me vertigo. I don’t pretend to understand the way my mind works, I’m just a captive under its spell.
I just read an article in the New York Times about NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month, the project in which thousands attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in just 30 days. It starts tomorrow (November 1st) and runs through the end of the month. I’d never considered participating before but 1,667 words per day x 30 days = HOT BAM! you’ve made a BOOK.
I was born in Ann Arbor. My Texan momma assures me the winters there were bitterly cold, but my only memory of Michigan is of a lake in the summer. Sitting on a blanket on the beach, I was startled by a daddy-long-legs. My father gently picked it up and held it out to me, telling me not to be afraid. I could see how tame the spider was, crawling up and down his arm, and so I asked to hold it too. My husband told me years ago that daddy-long-legs are the most poisonous of spiders, but their jaws are simply too weak or too small to pierce human flesh. I’ve never verified that fact, but I like to think of it whenever I see one.