When I was seventeen, I wrote a novel. It was tentatively titled Flashbulb, in reference to flashbulb memories, a term I learned from my twenty-five-year-old hipster philosophy professor at the community college. (Did I mention I was one of the only students to get a 4.0 in that class, even with my extreme lack of class participation?) I would come home every day – from school, from my job making and selling pretzels at the mall – and write. It was one of the best things I could’ve done for myself that year, and the sense of accomplishment at actually creating 50,000+ words worth of writing was amazing. I still haven’t gone back and read through the entire thing; that is beside the point.

The next year, and maybe the year after that, I started and stopped. The fact is that, the year I was seventeen, I had nothing else. I had school, but barely, and I had work, but only part-time. I had no friends to speak of, at least not ones I could spend time with, and I was more single than I’ve ever been. Nowadays, there is almost a physical ache in my body due to the lack of creativity in my life. Now that I am loving music again, the lack of creativity is even more pronounced. I am always writing in my head, but nothing ever gets put on paper or onto a screen.

I just don’t have time to do something like NaNoWriMo again. Working 45-50+ hours a week, having a social life, having a love life, wanting time to sleep and read and relax and someday catch up on my DVR – none of that is conducive to writing a 50,000 novel, the plot of which I still can’t even come up with.

So I’ve made a decision. I’m doing the whole blog-post-every-day-for-a-month thing. NaBloPoMo, if you feel the need for silly names. Every day in November, I’ll post something – even if it’s just one picture or a few words.

Maybe this will get me back into the creative world again? Maybe I’ll even keep it up after November ends.


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