The end of the year draws nigh in long strides. Halloween is next week, which means we’ll soon see the onslaught of Christmas goods in two stages (the day after Halloween and the day after Remembrance Day), followed by the frenzy of early December and the laid-back slide of the last week of the year, and then boom, 2018.
November has been perhaps the busiest part of my fourth quarters for the last decade. It began with essays in university all falling around the end of November; then, I discovered the challenge of National Novel Writing Month; and now I’ve added a fundraiser, Extra Life, into the mix. Apparently I’m a masochist who longs for his postsecondary days and assigns himself several projects to clumsily juggle.
I’m not the most prolific writer. That’s no secret; look at the archive of this blog and it’s an abundantly clear fact. I’ve fallen back to a weekly bastion of creativity, a ritual where I set 60/90/120 minutes aside to write, brainstorm, or whatever. I sneak other bursts in where I can, between my day job and my family life and my hobbies and other obligations and the way my brain slides into a vegetative apathy after the day’s mundane chaos.
Every November I tell myself I’ll use NaNoWriMo to kickstart the creative engine. I’ll stick to the routine and emerge in December, a rough but finished manuscript clutched to my chest.
It’s worked once.