I'm behind and I hate it.

I love NaNoWriMo, a whole month of getting a great start on a new novel. It's exciting, it's invigorating . . . and it's frustrating. I don't know who I'm kidding, but I was really sure my book was going to erupt from me and the words would just fall out on the screen. I know a lot of details about my book. I know the beginning, the middle and the end. I know the characters, the theme, and the subplots. It's all in my head, churning and eager to get out.

So what's the problem? I haven't really gotten started yet, and I should be at 10,000 words today. I am great at making excuses.

On Monday, we had to go get two cords of wood. It takes about seven hours and it's hard work. So I decided I was too tired to sit down and knock out a page or two.

Then Tuesday, I taught at the high school until 1:10 p.m. and had an appointment to donate blood after. Even though I was home before 3:00, I didn't open what I'd started on Sunday because I didn't think I was in the right frame of mind. Besides, I had my watercolor class at 7:00 and had to get the family fed before 6:30 so I could go.

Wednesday I did everything that didn't get done on Monday and Tuesday.

On Thursday, I went to Salt Lake and got home at 4:30. I turned on my computer, read my email, played a few games, then decided it was more important to watch Bones than write.

Today, I realized this great book inside of me is going to stay locked up unless I sit down and get serious. So what did I do? I did all the laundry I could find. I worked out--twice. I skimmed two magazines. Then I finally opened up my document and started reading what I'd written.

It was nice. It flowed. It wasn't half bad. I rolled up my sleeves and wrote. I am to 3,000 words now, still a long way from where I should be, but I wrote. And I will write tomorrow and the next day and the next until November 30 when at least 50,000 words are down.