My NaNoWriMo, aka, my what I do in November while other Wrimos are writing 50,000 word novels. I’ve finally resigned myself to the fact that I won’t be an official NaNo winner. I set my goal high, but try to be realistic about it. 30,000 words. Maybe I’ll make it, maybe I won’t. Either way, I won’t earn the official NaNoWriMo winner certificate. Maybe I should design my own. Or maybe they should hav a fill in the blank one for those of us who set a goal and achieve it. Personally, I care more about my goal than one that someone else sets for me. But, obviously, I don’t make the official rules. I just make my own rules.
Instead of a novel with a cast of characters,
And a setting,
And a plot with a beginning and end,
I’m writing unconnected poems and snatches of thoughts.
Verse.
Hopefully, out of the 30,000 words and month of entries,
I will find a dozen poems worth publishing.
A dozen or so poems to share with the universe,
And maybe someone will read one of them,
And think, huh,
That’s cool,
Or I like that,
Or, that is so me.
Maybe.
Feeling hopeful tonight.
I hope it lasts.
We all could use some hope these days.
Most days.
Every day.
