It's November 1st...

Do you know where your novel is? Is it hidden in the back of a dresser drawer, buried in the back yard, taking up space in a fold somewhere around your medula oblongata? It is that time of year again when writers, would-be writers, and people hell-bent on wordsmithing no matter the cost (be it sleep, sanity, etc.) start typing words, building sentences, shaping sentences into paragraphs, stacking paragraphs into pages and so on, all in hopes of hitting that magic number: 50,000.

November is going to be crazy for me, we're trying to get Stymie's first series of trading card fictions out (we've hit a minor snag with the printers), and um, I'm going be a first-time dad in a few short days. Those things, mainly the last one, are going to eat up a lot of time. But being a new dad means I'm not going to be sleeping much, so maybe it's time I take another crack at NaNoWriMo. Maybe I'll sit down with my long gestating novel Brighter than Sunshine and build on it, or heck, even start anew (or just start something new). There's a part of me that wants to be able to look back on a finished novel years after the fact and say to my little girl, "I wrote this for you," and if I'm lucky I'll be able to turn to a dedication page and show her her name.

Or maybe I'm just crazy. Well, there's probably no maybe about that.